


KATTAR SHUFFLE

by unseeliekey



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (i prefer talent shuffle bc. i shuffled not swapped them.), :3, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Talentswap (Dangan Ronpa), Character Death, F/F, Interactive Fiction, Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), M/M, Meta, Talent Shuffle, Unreliable Narrator, Violence, aka rewrite a lot of fanfiction because i hated my last draft of this!, all of these bitches be biased by their own perceptions also., i am doing some new things style-wise so. bare with me., mild gore?, no one is safe!!!!!, some of these bitches be LYING, sort of!, this might suck guys tbh!!!!!! i will write it anyway but we will see!!!, welcome back to i am manic and going to write a lot of fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 122,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25501321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unseeliekey/pseuds/unseeliekey
Summary: "Just play along, okay?"-------------------Her friends stood bared around them, circled, cycling, phases of the moon. She wondered what the real moon looked like- if these fake constellations were set with a fake moon, the imitation of months passing in their little hideaway. How long had they been here? Was this a trial room or a stage?"Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing, end them? To die, to sleep—""Okay, enough." Kaede resisted the urge to cry. She let out a slow breath instead, until she felt herself centered. "No one is dying today."(But it was a lie.)
Relationships: Kaede/someone you get to pick!, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi, and. inevitably., but. - Relationship, i havent decided how prominent the romances will be yet. or what they will be
Comments: 119
Kudos: 199





	1. and the cards are dealt.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, wanna play a game? You get one full day before I put up the first chapter! In the meantime, head over to the poll in the end notes. Do you know what a majority vote is?  
> Pick any character. I promise it won’t influence the story at all.  
> Think of this as practice!
> 
> (hello lovelies i missed all of you!!! I just got very depressed for a while! Now i am manic again so. Big new project time! I hope you’ll help me play through this ^w^)
> 
> this fic assumes you have some understanding of the base game of V3. spoilers ahead and i won't be recapping things in too much detail.

_ Known as the “Kattar” (translates to “hardcore”), Indian, Hindu, Kutti or Kenchi (“Scissor") Shuffle. This is probably the most popular method of shuffling in Asia and elsewhere outside of North America. Like the Overhand Shuffle, it too can also be easily used to force a card to a position in the deck.  _

\--

Cherry-sweet soda. Cigarettes they bummed off their upperclassmen. She readjusts the straps of her bra and dangles her feet off the ledge.

Rustling next to her. “Well, I’m definitely going to audition.”

“Me too. I’ve already thought about costume designs and stuff.”

She doesn’t know why she hangs out with them. She’s got plenty of much cooler, much more pleasant friends, ones who don’t have gore and guts on the brain all the time. Heaps of friends. So many people who want to hang out with her- that’s why her phone keeps blowing up. 

She pulls it out again, just to see if  _ she  _ texted back. No response. Obviously.

“If we get in, can I kill you?” One of them asks, and the other cackles like a coyote in response.

“Not if I kill you first~!” He sings, kicking his legs out like he might swing right off the roof and take flight.

She checks her phone again as they bicker. Opens her texts and scrolls through and sees- nothing. The same message left read last Friday. She could text again, but what’s the point? It’s not like she’d get a reply. She already knows they’re done.

“....... . Hey.” Gloomy asshole nudges her side and she has to resist the urge to snap at him.

“What?” Glances at him briefly, then back out over the dreary courtyard- all concrete and no trees. Looks like it’s going to rain soon.

“Are you going to?”

“Am I going to what?” She knows. Of course she does.

“Audition, sleazy bitch.” Five feet of pure annoyance is leaning around to grin at her too. Why does she hang out with them?

“Eh. Don’t know. I don’t hate myself like you guys do, you know.”

They make twin scoffing noises, so she reaches over to flick their unlit joint away, and smiles when they both splutter. 

Her gaze sinks up again, back to the grey sky, the heavy clouds. Leans her chin in the palm of her hand. Tries not to think about her. 

She’s lying, of course, but they all know that. 

\--

The gym court is empty, because it’s six in the morning on a Monday. He hasn’t slept all weekend. 

“I think I fucked up.” He can’t tell if the headache is because of the lack of sleep or if it’s a new, fun, permanent symptom.

She barely gives him a glance, tapping one neat brown shoe on the floor. It squeaks when she does. “You did fine.”

“I came off like a fucking psychopath.”

“You  _ are _ a fucking psychopath.”

He throws the ball directly at her head- maybe proving her point- but she dodges easily. 

“Are you crazy?” Anger flashes across her face, eyes like molten steel, and she storms over, still in her tight, neat blazer. “You’re meant to be taking it easy right now! Do you  _ wanna _ die?”

“I can throw a ball without passing out. I’ll need to do more if I’m picked, anyway.”

She clicks her tongue and looks away, folding her arms. “You are so, so stupid. You could get the money some other way.”

But they both know he can’t- his parents won’t accept anything she offers and he wouldn’t either. His lungs are just going to keep filling with blood until he chokes on it. 

Unless someone else kills him first.

Unless he  _ wins. _

“Yeah, well, you did it first,” he tells her, and she looks away because there’s not much else to say.

\--

“This is going to be the biggest season yet. Are you losing your shit? I’m losing my shit.”

“Right.” 

He watches as the girl next to him sways sideways, a frown slipping over her face. “Come on, could you try to be a little more excited? You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

He does have an idea, because they were friends once, a long time ago. They can’t really be called that now, but- here they are, sitting in a cafe because there’s no one else to sit with. 

He curls his fingers under his chin and thinks of the letter waiting on his bed, still sealed with wax. _ For your eyes only. A new future awaits. _

_ \-- _

The cast is confirmed. She’s spent the last few weeks glittered up, changed in and out of clothing brands, swapped from costume to costume. Life glitters like a magazine cover. She gets taken to all these parties with chocolate fountains she can’t eat from because one bite would be half her calorie count, but it doesn’t even matter because everyone thinks she’s beautiful and hilarious.

“I can already tell you’re going to be a star,” some guy tells her- not one of her castmates, just some guy, a bit older, heir to some company, sleazing it up with the latest merchandise from the hottest reality show.

She giggles, and his eyes crinkle when she snorts, like her laugh is endearing and not gross. “Are you kidding? I’m going to be the first fuckin’ victim, guarantee it.”

He’s nice, nicer than she expected anyone to be here. His brown eyes look like the chocolate fountain, molten and warm and sweet. He puts his hand on her hip and not her thigh and she thinks she might be a little bit in love. 

“You know, I’ve always remembered the first victims more than anyone else,” he murmurs. “Something about the shock of it all. I think they’re the realest deaths. The saddest ones.”

She plants her own hand on her other hip and raises an eyebrow challengingly. “Will you cry for me?”

He picks up her hand and kisses it, like she’s a lady. Like she’s a martyr. Like she’s not some dumb faux-prodigy with a pill addiction who just happened to be smart enough and blonde enough that her bullshit personality didn’t get her thrown out of the cast immediately. 

“More than I’ve ever cried before.”

They don’t fuck, that night, and she doesn’t see him again. The withdrawal is killer, but she hopes they’ll remember her.

\--

_ “Do we really need Danganronpa?” _

Across the room, his mother is watching the television. Passive-aggressive. He knows that much, even if it’s hard to read her behaviour.

_ “Our society has progressed past this, surely. This waste of life and youth will forever be a stain on our history- do we really intend to continue supporting the murder of innocent children?” _

It looks like a debate, because the man across from the woman speaking interrupts. The tv flickers with static. _ “But Takashi-san, there’s evidence that Danganronpa’s influence helps suppress crime rates. It acts as a deterrent for violence and a lot of the money produced goes to charity.”  _ He laughs. It’s a nice laugh.  _ “And hey, you’re right. Our society is so pleasant it can get a bit boring at times. Is it really that wrong to want to see a bit of bloodlust?” _

The audience laughs along with him.

_ “Surely as long as all parties are consenting it’s alright! And the survivors get therapy and a pretty hefty reward, and we get a bit of an adventure and to be reminded about the meaning of hope and our combat against despair. The wants of the many outweigh the needs of the few, right?” _

His mother rocks back in her chair. “They’re going to take you away from me,” she whines. “My poor boy. How could you choose to do something so awful?”

She watched every season, though. He watched it with her, hunched up in his seat. He doesn’t know why he signed up, but he did, and he’s never been good at saying no to things.

He finishes watering the singular plant in the kitchen and leans against their moulding counter. An ant crawls out of the sugar jar, and he sticks out his hand and watches it creep up his wrist.

\--

“Once you step through these doors, your life will be changed forever,” the man says, and his smile is like every sin folded up into origami teeth, white and crisp as paper. He smells like a new car- or maybe that’s just the lab. 

“Now, these machines do the heavy lifting, but it’s the flashback lights that really do all the magic! We’re just giving you the basics here.” He walks over to a row of buttons and then turns around to face them all again, gelled hair almost unmoving. 

“Are you ready?” He asks, but it’s not like there’s any going back now.

\--

The machines whirr away. The room is quiet and dark. Every occupant is sleeping.

One light flickers on.

\--

A locker. A room. A boy. Machines made of death and panic and bad jokes. They end up hiding out in a gym and she watches numbly as people try to shut the doors.

Something is wrong.

“Who are you-”

“What’s going on-”

“What are those things-”

“Shit.”

And it’s dark again.

\--

“Have you heard of the  _ ultimates? _ ”

A beam of light, and then she remembers.


	2. the players at the table.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What’s that?” She asks, moving to his side and leaning over his shoulder. Saihara jumps, scattering cards over the floor. He bends over to pick them up, hastily, his fingers almost shaking where they peak out from those dark gloves. When Kaede tries to lean down, too, he picks them up even faster, sweeping them into his hands.
> 
> “Ah- tarot cards,” he says, quickly cutting the deck and shaking them until they line up. “They’re… pretty interesting, one of the most popular forms of modern divination. This is a European deck; there’s theories that their most common design is linked to the Kabbalah - here, see, you can see Hebrew on this card.” He traces a finger over it before shuffling it back in with the others, eyes fixed on the movement. “But it has been heavily influenced by Christian Occultism. The idea of fortune-telling with cards has roots in plenty of cultures, though. You can technically read tarot with a deck of normal playing cards, but… only the minor arcana.” His voice is soft enough to be called lilting- gentle. It’s like a tea light flickering on your bedside table. Kaede watches him shuffle the cards until he has them folded into a deck again- neat, compact, not one out of place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this is late and i dont have an excuse except i uh. partied too hard got too gay.  
> no fear one fear: my identity online at this point is paper thin if you see this and you think it's me it is! yes i'm still hungover. yes i did write some of this hungover. yes i am never having alcohol ever again  
> also i read some RLLY good poetry if ur a gay dude go read he's so MASC and then cry and immediately go dancing and then come back home and be very ill for upwards of six hours. just kidding dont imitate anything i do especially that and DONT mix wine and vodka good fucking god. im never drinking ever again until friday bc its drag night this friday but you shouldn't drink either. if you do you shouldn't drink wine and vodka i don't CARE if it's the cheapest combo i promise it is not worth it. i have had more alcohol than this before and i still have never been this hungover in my life. 
> 
> anyway that's why the first chapter is late whoops!!!!!! pls enjoy.

“They’re waking up. **IIIIIIIIII** found the main body. **IIIIIIIII** is already making movements. **IIIIIIIII** seems to be having some trouble.”

Multiple screens flicker to life, surrounding them with color so vibrant it almost hurts. The rest of the room is dim, lit with red light. There are cameras, even in here.

“Season V3 is a go, then. Are you ready, Enoshima-san?”

Their eyes burn from the sting of the screens. They haven’t slept in days.

They can’t afford to mess this up. This is bigger than it’s ever been.

“Lights, camera, action, I guess,” they murmur, stepping away from the lights and over to the door.

“Hey.”

Pause. Dramatic tension. Tilt the head to the side- they can’t see, but they know the light is glinting off their jaw enticingly, bared throat and bared teeth.

“Make sure they play their parts.”

They reach for one of the flashback lights and give it a toss before setting it back down. Their finger slots perfectly over the button there.  
Behind them, a hundred others lay in wait, ready to be programmed.

Dramatic irony- when the audience is aware of something the characters are not. It’d be funny if they weren’t the one on set.

“This season will be _perfect_ ,” they whisper. It has to be. 

The last of their life better be dazzling.

\---

_“Breath is the force of ki, of life. Of movement. You want to protect people?”_

_She was sprawled on the floor, her throat shuddering with tears like honey in her throat, blocking her up._

_“Then you breathe,” her master continued._

_The bandages on her ankle were loose, trodden underfoot. Her mother leaned down, suddenly, and laced them back up, weaving in and out and tucking in the ends with a clip she produced from seemingly nowhere._

_Even on the soft mat of the dojo floor, falling hurt- but it was the shock that had made her cry, made that precious breath stick in her throat. She visualized it- the ki, flowing through her veins, flowering out of her joints like an old doll on the forest floor._

_She could hear music in the background- the soft press of keys as her mother’s hair fell in her face. She reached out to touch her cheek- wrinkled and taut like an overripe peach. Every part of her mother moved with her breath._

_Suddenly, her mother sat up and reached out to touch her face in turn, and she had to blink back tears so they could stare at each other as the woman leaned down to press their foreheads together, hand on cheek._

_“It’s okay to cry,” the woman said- mother, master, mentor, priest. “But you mustn’t ever_ **_stop._ ** _”_

Kaede wakes up in the dark.

For the first few bleary moments, she can’t quite piece things together. Her lower back aches, as do her wrists, and her ankles, and her throat. She feels like a doll that someone threw against a wall, wooden joints all out of place. 

_Okay, Akamatsu. Catch your breath. Find yourself. Assess your surroundings. Don’t make a single move without a sense of your own energy._

Even in a situation like this, she finds it easily- the life that flows through her, unified and whole and interconnected. Her fingertips brush metal. Her eyes find the slits of light just above her head, and her legs find the strength to stand, her skin the sense of space.

Kaede steps out of the locker and feels the way her head spins like she’s being flipped. She’s forced to overexert, lunging forward like she’s missing a dance partner, springing up again to catch herself and rock back on her heels. It’s tempting to catch herself against a desk, but instead she shifts her feet inwards and steadies her arms in front of her.

She takes another few deep breaths. Breath is the core of everything, the best way to steady yourself- it’s the rhythm she’ll always come back to, the pulse of her blood and the catch of her mind as she leans into the world around her. It’s easier to be brave when you have something to rely on.

Taking a moment to glance around the setting, she finds herself frowning, more confused than before. She was in a locker, she recognized that as she stepped out, but- there’s a row of them. And desks, and chairs, and a big projector screen, and… _is this a school?_   
It’s not her school, certainly. And it looks overgrown, too. Abandoned. It could pass for some of the old shrines around her home. There’s something uncanny about it, not just the plants and the signs of abandonment. Maybe it's the almost-red lighting, or the awful silence, or the sense of not being alone-

Someone groans from the row of lockers, and Kaede almost jumps out of her skin, her knees bending, her form turning to the lockers- flexible, liquid, ready to move in defense or action. Her skirt floats and falls as she moves, the hem dropping against the shorts underneath. She thinks of her _randori_ training, and her whole body moves as one- eyes not fixed but fluid, aching limbs poised to move again.She’s not afraid. Aikido is not an art for the afraid. Kaede will look her attacker in the eye and vow to keep them as safe as she keeps herself. If her heart speeds up a beat, she does nothing but flatten her palms.

No attacker springs forth. The locker door opens slowly, and another muffled sound echoes, and then a boy stumbles forth. Momotaro, if Momotaro’s fruit opened up like Pandora’s box, if he lost his balance as he stepped forth and looked around with paranoia in his eyes.

Kaede shifts her feet again, letting her body flow with the movement as she lowers her hands. She forces herself to stay relaxed, ready, assessing him. Her mother always said you could gauge someone’s spirit through their face, see their mettle and their drive and their intentions- but he seems hesitant to lift it, staring at the floor as he trips over himself and gets to his feet, a little less graceful than her. (Considerably less graceful, but she’s in cotton and silk in the color of peaches and he’s in a tight, dark jacket covered in chains and patches.) She takes the time to stare at him, the sigil on his breastpocket, the long trail of buttons on his shirt- and when he finally lifts his head, the dark mask covering the lower half of his face.

 _Is he sick?_ Kaede wonders, just briefly, before he shouts and falls backward again, staring at her like she’s a monster.

Any tension in her fades and shifts into concern- the push and pull of emotions, softening but not lessening. Lowering her arms, she crosses over and holds out a hand- although her knees stay bent slightly, her feet shifted out, planted firm on the ground as soon as she sets herself in front of him. Just in case. 

“Don’t scream,” she tells him, in her softest voice, the one she uses for the girls who are too shy to yell with their strikes. Her mother always said that true strength came from supporting others- aikido is an art of connection, of unity. “I’m not going to hurt you, it’s okay.” Something about his eyes, wild and frantic and gold, the mask pulled high on his face, makes her nervous, like he’s staring right through her. She kneels down, making sure to give him his space, and gives him a bright smile, tilting her head. “My name’s Akamatsu Kaede. It’s nice to meet you. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I think we’re stuck in this together, so don’t worry, alright?” Still smiling, she pumps her fist like she would after a good match, looking for her mother in the crowd. “I’ll protect you!”

The boy is silent. For a long time, actually, long enough that she wonders whether he hit his head or something. He just watches her, with those odd, cool eyes, before he sits himself up and appears to mumble something. It’s hard to make it out from behind the mask, until he heaves in a breath and something in his gaze just… shifts. He’s actually engaging with her now, not just staring, like his mind has finally caught up to his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he says, quietly. “I’m… Saihara Shuichi.”

“Nice to meet you too, Saihara-kun!” Kaede offers out her hand again, and after a moment, he takes it and allows her to haul them back up. She notes that both his palms are covered in thin black gloves, but his fingers are free

He pulls his hand back after a moment, looking around stiffly. “I… I assume you were taken, too, then?”

“Taken?”

_Her, running up the hill to the dojo- six thirty in the morning, cool autumn air. A white van. Fish truck? Postal service?_

_Men, all around her, masked and violent. She flipped one as another grabbed her arm. He fell to a kick, her arm slipping down to cradle his head as he hit the asphalt. Another hand on her thigh- two pushed back by a kick, stumbling but not falling._

_She got about a foot before they were on her again. A bite in her neck. She threw two- remembers when she watched one fall too hard, sprain his ankle. He yelled._

_She felt worse about hurting him than she did about the sudden wave of nausea that wiped her out._

Kaede’s hand flies up to her neck, pressing against the site she swears they must have shot her. “That’s right!” she gasps, and the sudden rush of guilt that accompanies her memories has her stomach twisted. “Oh, I hurt one of them! Did they come for you, too?”

It’s hard to read the boy’s expression- between the mask and the hand pressed against it thoughtfully. “Statistically, after a victim has been taken to a secondary location, their chances of survival drop to almost nothing.”

“Excuse me?” Kaede can only blink, her stomach dropping. Saihara doesn’t look away from her for a long, silent moment, until he glances around the room.

“I don’t know why they’d leave us alone, though…. We’re valuable merchandise, it seems risky. I imagine the door is locked, but still…” He looks up to the monitor hanging by the board, out of place in a classroom like a hi-tech game system in the middle of a rice paddy. “I suppose they’re monitoring us through that.”

“W-what do you mean, merchandise?” Kaede laughs, the sound coming out stiff and awkward even to her. 

Saihara looks back, and seems to catch himself- his eyes drop to the floor, and what she can see of his face turns pink. “Ah- I’m sorry Akamatsu-san. Please ignore me, I’m- just anxious.” He’s shaking, just a bit, she realizes.

She’s still for a moment, but quickly finds her smile again. “Well, you know what they say! Fear is an emotion, and emotions are just manifestations of our life energy. Let it flow through you! Take that energy and turn it into confidence.” She pumps her fist again, taking her own advice and trying to flow with those butterflies in her stomach, bouncing up on her feet. “We’ll be okay! Especially since you’ve got me with you, right?” Pride comes before a fall, and Kaede isn’t usually one to brag, but she crosses over and places a hand on Saihara’s shoulder, ignoring his flinch. “I’m actually…well, I'm the ultimate aikido master! So you’ve got nothing to worry about, okay? I’ll protect you.”

Saihara’s eyes widen above his mask. His eyeliner is really sharp- she wonders if his eyelashes are real. “You- you’re an ultimate?”

Kaede rocks forward on her feet, hands tucked behind her back “Mhm! I was adopted by a master, so we’ve been working together all my life. There’s nothing I love more! It’s like a dance- the flow of energy, the give and take…. Aikido is truly an art worthy of praise!” She strikes a few poses, throwing in a couple strikes and making sure they never land. Kaede is in complete control of her body at all times, and Saihara is in no danger around her. 

Still, his face looks grim. He even drops the hand from his mask. “Akamatsu-san, I’m… I’m an ultimate, too.”

“What? Really?” Kaede has to take a moment to process this- but of course! Everyone says that Ultimates are really eccentric, and, well- that’s the best way to describe Saihara so far. “Oh my gosh, I’ve _never_ met another before! I mean, I’m a little bit sheltered- I kind of devote my life to aikido, so I don’t meet many other people, and I come from a really small town and usually just talk to my mom, but- that’s so cool, Saihara-kun!” She clasps her hands together, pressing up on her tiptoes until they’re eye level. “What’s your talent?”

“Um. I’m the ultimate anthropologist,” he mumbles, pulling at his mask, flushing again. 

“Whoa. That’s so cool...”

Kaede has no idea what that is.

Is it something she’s supposed to know? Look at her, aikido-freak, outdated martial artist. Only cares about her own philosophy. She tries to look like she knows what he’s talking about, but it mustn’t pass, because Saihara’s eyes crinkle.

“Ah, anthropology is the study of humanity,” He explains kindly. “Human behaviour, past social cultures, things like that… it’s truly a diverse study and to be the ultimate-” His expression flickers. “Ah. I don’t quite think it’s a title I’m deserving of, honestly. All I’ve done is publish one paper, and I’d based it on my uncle’s research…”

“Don’t be so stupid!” Saihara blinks, looking up like Kaede just slapped him. She points accusingly at his face. “You published a paper! And you’re still in high school, right?” 

“I-I’m seventeen,” he stammers.

She crosses her arms, harnessing all her positive energy. “So you shouldn’t be so down on yourself! Not everyone can just go and ‘write a paper’, Saihara-kun!”

He looks down, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves, and then back up to her. Even if his mouth is covered, she can see how his eyes have softened “That’s very kind of you.”

“Of course!” Kaede reaches down to grab his hand and drags him forward. He blinks rapidly. “Now, let’s go look around, okay?”

“Ah- okay?”

She pulls Saihara over to the door and tries the knob, ki bubbling in her like a hotspring. She really doesn’t expect it to open- but it does, and for a moment the two of them stand there, hand in hand, watching as it swings open slowly. 

They share a glance. Saihara’s face is unreadable again.  
“Well,” Kaede says, unnerved. “Onward and upward, right? I’ll go first.”

\--

They are definitely in a school, she decides, as they move through a long hallway, decorated with classrooms. And moss. And grass, growing through the carpets and the windows- the windows that are chained shut, bolted closed. Saihara keeps close to her, just behind her elbow, and his anxiety rubs off on her, a tingle at the base of her spine. She's keeping her body low, her hands up just a bit- it’s not fear. It’s just that she has someone to protect, now, and she doesn’t think she could bear it if she failed. He insists they poke their heads in classrooms, check out odd, locked doors- one decorated like a piano, another plain and unnoticable. 

They take their time with it, which is maybe why it doesn’t take long until they turn into an open area in the school and are suddenly faced with a girl kicking the base of an enormous stone statue with the toe of a studded boot. Even Kaede jumps, rolling her weight forward and resisting the instinct to curl back. Saihara seems to have a similar reaction, letting out a puff of breath and shrinking closer to her. Kaede spreads her arms out, covering him as best she can, and takes a moment to observe the girl. 

She seems like a similar age to them- pretty, blonde, and very angry. 

“Fuck’s up with this,” she mutters, pacing around the statue. “Fucking school- fucking bear- fucking kidnappers-”

Kaede decides she’s probably safe.

She reaches for Saihara’s hand again, dragging him over. “Hey!” She says, as cheerfully as possible. “Were you kidnapped, too?”

The girl’s head whips over, and she lets out a heavy sigh. “Ugh, finally! I was starting to wonder when any other idiots would show up.” She turns to them, one hand planted on her hip, the other gesturing wildly. She’s in a seifuku- so skimpy and cute and pink that there’s no way it’s a real uniform. She’s paired it with a corset, a bag slung around her waist and an elaborate pair of goggles on her head- her gloves, too, are covered in straps and tiny designs, the edges of her skirt sewn with gold charms and gears. It’s- it’s a lot to take in, and suddenly Kaede feels embarrassed by the ruffles of her own plainly-patterned skirt. “So? Heard anything from the bear?”

“The bear?” Kaede blinks, looks back to Saihara. He just shrugs, so she turns back to the girl. “Um, no, sorry-”

“Wow, what the fuck’s up with the emo back there?” The girl leans sideways, peering up at Saihara curiously. “You okay, pencil-dick? You look like you just visited a fuckin’ funeral! You sick or something? What’s with the mask?”

Kaede feels Saihara stiffen at her side. He really needs to loosen up- both his muscles and his attitude. He’d go down like a paperweight. He turns away slightly, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, and Kaede decides it’s time to rescue him- before he speaks up, staring at the floor with an odd burn in his eyes. “I like the way it looks,” he says fiercely- fiercely for someone avoiding eye contact like it might burn him in place. “You should mind your own business.”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” the girl whines, clutching at great handfuls of her own hair and leaning back rapidly. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

Kaede stares at Saihara in mild shock. She didn’t think he was capable of being rude- at least, not on purpose. “Um, anyway!” She tries. Evidently, Saihara’s had enough of this, because he moves away to go and look at the statue, and she’s left staring at the girl. “Um. My name is Akamatsu Kaede, and… that’s Saihara Shuichi! It’s really nice to meet you, I’m sorry we don’t know about the bear-”

Suddenly, the girl sniffs indignantly, losing all of her seemingly submissiveness. “Oh my god, don’t worry. I wouldn’t expect someone as ugly as you to know anything anyway.”   
_Ugly?_   
Kaede feels herself pulling back, anger rising in her stomach, but before she can respond, the girl pokes a thumb into her own chest, tossing back her hair. “The name’s Iruma Miu, the ultimate cosplayer! Come, admire as you please- I don’t charge for looking, though I should!” She bursts into a round of cackling, chin held high. 

“Oh, wow, you’re a cosplayer?” Kaede glances over the girl’s outfit again, momentarily distracted. She takes her time to stare at all the tiny charms, the neat details stitched in. “Did you make that yourself?”

“Sure did,” Iruma chirps, puffing out her chest. “I make all my own costumes, and model ‘em, too! People say I can portray any character perfectly. I really love steampunk designs, so I do a lot of my own OCs, but I can do just about anything, really- any gender, age, species, genre- you name it!” Her eyes flick down to Kaede’s chest and linger for just a moment before flicking back up. “I’d offer to make you something a little more flattering, but you couldn’t afford me, anyway.”

Any excitement over this girl’s cosplay drains away. Kaede steps forward, feels the anger burning in her stomach. “Excuse me?”

“Eeeh!” The cosplayer shrinks back again, suddenly raising her hands and whimpering. Immediately, Kaede moves back, too, so fast that she almost trips over Saihara-who-had-suddenly-materialized-back-behind-her. “D-don’t hurt me!”

“I’m sorry!” Kaede says, shame overcoming her. “I won’t, I promise!”

“It’s not my fault you’ve got such a bad taste in clothes,” Iruma sobs. “That’s such an ugly shade of pink…”

Kaede is about three seconds away from forgetting everything her mother taught her and just flipping this girl, when Saihara takes her arm and pulls her back, mumbling something about how they should keep investigating. Kaede takes a breath and forces herself to wave at Iruma, calling a goodbye to her as they leave. The whole conversation leaves her feeling heated- she has _never_ met someone so rude and hypocritical before.   
They continue to inspect the rest of the second floor, but when it reveals pretty much nothing, the two of them head down the stairs. Kaede pops in to check the girl’s bathroom and finds nothing but another one of those unsettling monitors, and then Saihara insists on looking in the boys’. They continue down the long hallways, glancing about like side characters in a poor horror film.

“Akamatsu-san,” Saihara says after a while, as they turn a corner. “Don’t you think it’s odd that… out of all three people we’ve seen, we’re all ultimates?”

Kaede stops walking. “Huh,” she says, thinking back on it. “Do you think…” Her stomach drops, and so does her voice. She can’t get it to go above a whisper as she looks at him, fear creeping up her spine. _Breathe. Breathe. Don’t choke yourself._ “Do you think they’re kidnapping ultimates?”

Saihara’s eyes shift sideways, looking into the distance. “It would appear so,” he murmurs. “Ultimates are advertised and valued enough that it seems highly unlikely you would steal one by chance, let alone three. And from what Iruma-san said, I would imagine that there are others, too.”

It’s a sobering thought, that they were- prepared for them, for this. Kaede pulls up her fists, tenses, then relaxes again. They’re probably prepared for her aikido, then. They definitely had to be, to capture her. 

“What’s this about ultimates?”

“Haah!” Kaede turns, her body moving with her, and she’s halfway through preparing for fourth technique when she fully processes that the voice behind them belongs to a girl making no move to harm them. Immediately, she lowers her hands, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Sorry- just a little jumpy.”

“I can’t say I blame you,” the girl says, tilting her head. She has dark, red eyes, and dark hair, pulled in two twintails. Her outfit is very casual, a striped shirt and casual pants- high waisted, tied tight by a belt buckled above her belly button. “I presume you two are the last of the ultimates, then?”

“The last of…”

“The bear said there were sixteen of us,” she says casually, tucking a hand in her pocket and shaking one of those long twintails back, the locket on her chest bouncing with it. “I’ve already met the other thirteen. Let me guess: you have no memory of how you got here- like it’s just been sucked out?”

Kaede’s next inhale comes a little fast than it means to.

“Like I said, met the others.” The girl closes her eyes as she inclines her head.

Kaede closes her eyes, clenches her hands. “Yeah, it’s like…. Whenever I think of it, it’s just static. Like the memories aren’t there at all-” 

Autumn air. The hill. The car. Men. The sting on her neck. Nothing. Nothing. An ache behind her eyes. Nothing. Lying still with wires hooked into her-  
She winces, reaching up to touch her own forehead. “Ah-”

“Careful.” The girl’s hands are steady, keeping her upright, and her eyes are still so dark. “If you try too hard to remember, you’ll give yourself a headache. I saw the astronaut do it earlier."

Saihara, a few paces back, quietly clears his throat. “Um… that’s the second time someone here has mentioned a bear. What do you mean?”

The girl’s eyes slide over to him, and she stares for a few moments before releasing a flustered Kaede and moving back. “Don’t worry about it,” she decides. “I’m… confident things will be explained soon.”

Something in her voice makes Kaede a little uneasy- she chalks it up to the flutter of her heartbeat, and makes herself think of the _humiliating_ session of training where her mother got fed up with her losing fights to pretty girls. “Um,” she says. Good start. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’m Akamatsu Kaede and this is Saihara Shuichi, and we’re just investigating around at the moment- do you think you might want to join us?” Part of her is nervous around this girl, who seems so still and assured, who looks like she has secrets tucked away in her head. 

The girl blinks, slowly. Like a cat. “I’m Harukawa Maki,” she says. “I think I’m just going to look around on my own for the moment. I have… a theory I’d like to confirm.”

“What’s your ultimate talent?” Saihara asks, pulling at his mask.

Harukawa looks at him evenly, the hint of something like a threat in her eyes. “I don’t remember.”

“You- you don’t remember your talent?” Kaede stares. She can’t imagine living without her own talent- aikido has been a part of her life since… always. If she forgot it, she might as well be forgetting her mother, her philosophy, her friends.

Her sister.

Harukawa shrugs a shoulder. “I’m sure that sounds unbelievable to you, but it’s true. I do remember that I had one, and considering everyone else is an ultimate, that would back up that theory. And it’s not like I’m the only one with gaps in my memory.”

Kaede shifts nervously, switching her weight from foot to foot. “Well, Harukawa-san, I hope you remember soon.”

Harukawa’s face remains just as cool as it was before, but there’s a flicker of a something in those red eyes when she looks away. “And you, Akamatsu-san.”

As she walks away, Kaede can’t shake the sense of mystery hanging in the air. Something is missing here- something about this school, old and overgrown and unfortunate, is off. Beyond the obvious. She looks to her silent companion, anthropologist like a phantom watching over her shoulder. 

“Saihara-kun, are you missing some memories, too?”

He nods, his gaze grown distant again. Some higher figure has picked up his puppet strings and pulled them,taut. “I think we may be involved in something bigger than a simple kidnapping.” Saihara steps forward, tugging his sleeves down to the base of his gloves- and then he looks back, tilting his head. The pocket watch pinned to his chest glints in the unnatural light, a chain slipping to settle between his collarbones.

“Come on, this looks like the dining hall,” he says. She wonders how he gets enough breath through the mask.

Kaede nods, and follows.

\--

Kiibo likes to think of himself as a positive person. His knee won’t stop bouncing as he rests on the dark staircase, staring across the room at the picture of him pinned to a door that won’t open. 

Yet.

His knee won’t stop bouncing, and he knows he’s making a fool of himself with the way he’s talking, but that’s fine. No one says you can’t get anxious sometimes, right? Especially when you’ve been kidnapped and thrown into a frankly ridiculous birdcage, thick glass separating you and the sky. Especially when your memory is blank, blank, blank-

Shirogane holds out a saucer, right in front of his face, and he has to force himself to blink. “Oh.”

He takes it, and the cup resting overtop. He swears she was only gone a minute, barely enough for him to get through half of his point about the constellations outside, and yet- tea. He takes a sip. It’s perfectly warm. He can barely taste it.

“It’s delicious,” he says, anyway.

She dips into a curtsey. Kiibo found her waiting in here when the air outside became too much for him, oppressive and terrifying. She’s wearing the cutest, frilliest maid outfit that he thinks he’s ever seen- and somehow, she doesn’t make it look cliche or cheesy. Maybe it was because she’s the third person he’s met so far and the other two were both _terrifying,_ but- there’s something elegant about her- maybe the glasses, or how her blue hair’s pulled up into a bun and tucked behind a sweet hairband. 

“Thank you very much,” she murmurs, her voice sweeter than the tea itself, airy. “Please let me know if you have any further requests.”

He takes another sip. “You’re the ultimate maid, right?” He should have clarified that before he demanded tea, but in his defense, he’s still coming down from the panic attack.

“I suppose it’s plainly clear, hm?” She folds her hands behind her back and curtseys- perfect form. She’s very still, almost statue-like, and she has a sweet smile, like they’re already friends. “My name is Shirogane Tsumugi, and I am here for all your needs.”

He already knows her name. Some ultimates are higher profile than others. “You’re known for fulfilling any request you’re given,” he says, setting the saucer down to wrap both hands around the cup.

“Well, I refuse any request I cannot be confident I can fulfill,” Shirogane says, dipping her head. 

Kiibo stares into the green liquid. “I heard that you assist politicians and heirs,” he says. “Apparently your service as a maid is more valuable than the work of many businessmen.”

Surprisingly, Shirogane flushes, looking away. “Ah, that’s an exaggeration. I’m really nothing special, I’m just- I’m just dedicated to my work!” When she looks back again, her eyes are bright, her cheeks still flushed- like a lovestruck maiden, he thinks. “I love helping people, in any way I can, and being able to make it my livelihood is a dream come true!” Suddenly she curtseys again, deep and perfectly refined. “So, if there’s anything you need, please tell me. If there’s anything I can do to make this awful experience better, please do let me know. I’ll be plain sure to help you out.”

Kiibo looks back across the room to the picture of him. “What is this place?” He asks.

Lifting a finger as she answers the question in her steady, pretty voice, Shirogane looks up as she runs through the information. “There are sixteen rooms in here, each locked but presumably intended for us. They have our names printed over the door, and a picture of our face above that. The rooms appear to be of decent size, judging from the outside of the building, and there’s plumbing evident nearby that would lead me to assume each one has some sort of bathroom utilities, which is good. This area appears to be something of a common room, and each set of stairs is perfectly safe and up to code. The carpet used out here is a wool blend”

Kiibo just blinks. Shirogane goes pink.

“Was that too much?”

“N-no, that was just right,” he stammers. “You’re- you must be really good at your job.”

Shirogane looks away again. “Thank you… um-”

Right, he hasn’t introduced himself yet, has he? “Kiibo,” he says. “Ultimate astronaut. He or they pronouns.”

Shirogane bobs her head in acknowledgement, then leans forward- almost a little too close. “You’re an astronaut?”

“Not yet.” He takes another sip of tea, finds a smile pulling at his face. “But soon. I’ve been mapping the stars all my life.” And building probes and designing robots- he’s always liked working with machines.

“You must be a very passionate person,” Shirogane says, straightening up. “You have to be very brave, to want something like that.”

He smiles at her, feels something spark in him- the birth of a star. “I prefer _hopeful_.”

\--

They continue investigating, trailing hands and fingers over overgrown walls. Saihara’s palms are gloved, but his bare fingers twitch against carvings in the sides of doors. His eyes dart around, watching- it’s hard to tell, but sometimes she thinks she can make out his mouth moving behind the mask. He’s silent, though.

They enter what looks like a dining hall. Kaede always ahead of Saihara, her feet poised, hands relaxed but ready. This room, at least, seems in better shape than the ones outside, even with the ivy creeping around the windows. The tables are bare. One lone salt shaker is knocked sideways on a seat, the condiment crystalized around its rim.

There are two boys standing inside- one looks up from the table and smiles with gentle eyes, and the other barely gives them a glance before returning to examining the windows.

“Heya…” Kaede says, trailing off a little. Saihara seems to have no interest in carrying the conversation- he’s busy doing his zoned-out staring thing again, probably memorizing the way they behave for his next thesis or something.

Fortunately the smiling boy, green-haired, sets down his cards and waves her over. “Hey,” he says, calm and friendly. “Did you just meet Harukawa?”

“Yep,” Kaede says, taking the opportunity to move over, Saihara trailing behind her like a shadow. The short boy in the background ignores them, moving around to inspect the windows. “She was… nice!”

“You look like it,” the boy laughs. He holds out a hand. “Amami Rantaro, nice to meet you. I’m the ultimate magician.”

“Ah- really!” A _magician._ Now that she gets a better look at him- it explains the cloak and waistcoat. She claps her hands together and leans forward, the oppressive atmosphere already forgotten. “I’m Akamatsu Kaede, ultimate aikido master, and this is Saihara- are you really a magician?”

“Sure,” he laughs, sitting up a bit straighter- from a casual lean that’s so cool it intimidates her to upright and energized, ready to perform. “I started learning tricks to entertain my sisters, and I ended up just… keeping at it.”

“Will you show me a trick?” Kaede clasps her hands together, gives her best pair of puppy eyes. Amami just laughs again, easy-going as anything.

“Alright, Akamatsu-san. Sit down.” 

She does, glancing up at Saihara, who might be smiling behind his mask. She grins back, then turns to face Amami. “Now what?”

“Now… you pick a card.” Before she can even see him move, the cards are back in his hands, fanned out and ready to choose from. She picks one out- three from the very right. When he nods, she lifts it up to look at it, careful to keep the back tucked behind her fingers. The jack of hearts.

“Do I put it back?”

Amami shakes his head. “Just hold onto that for me.” He shuffles the remaining deck slowly, speaking casually as he does. “Now, of course I know the card that you took already, but that’s not much of a trick- it’s easy to count cards and arrange their placement in a deck, nothing too magical about that.” He looks up and winks as he cuts the deck, and Kaede bites back a laugh- something about him has her shoulders losing their tension, a little of that earlier fear seeping out. “Now, Akamatsu-san, can you cover that up completely? Hold your hands around it, real tight.”  
She does as he says, folding her hands around the card, careful not to crease it. Amami nods, flicking the two sets of cards together. “Have you heard the story of Diamonds and Toads, Akamatsu-san?” She shakes her head, entranced, as he shuffles the deck. “Well, the story is about two sisters- one who gets a blessing, that whenever she speaks, jewels-” As he speaks, he shuffles, and a tiny crystal rises to the top of the deck, flashing in between the cards. Amami flicks it onto the table like he’d pulled it out of another dimension, and doesn’t even pause. “-And roses fell from her lips.” He splits the deck to reveal a rose petal resting in the middle. Kaede gasps as he places it aside, and looks over to Saihara to share in the performance. He shrugs at her, seeming equally enthralled by the sleight of hand.

Suddenly, Amami sets down the pack of cards entirely. “Her sister, on the other hand,” he says, leaning his chin on his hand conversationally. “Was cursed- every word she spoke sent toads tumbling from her-” and then he pauses, chokes, reaches up to grasp at his own throat as he splutters for air- and spits out a little wooden toad over the table, large enough that he couldn’t have talked with it in his mouth.

Kaede laughs delightedly, resisting the urge to pull her hands from the card to clap. “That was amazing!”

Amami makes a show of rubbing his throat and coughing, then looks back to her and smiles slyly. “Ah, my apologies, Akamatsu-san,” he says, rubbing his neck again. “The magic gets away from me now and then, and I’d forgotten all about your card.” He picks up the deck and shuffles them once more, before setting them back down and turning over the one on the top. “Is this your card?”

The jack of hearts sits there, red and white. Kaede laughs.

“Mhm!”

Amami blinks, looking genuinely confused. “It is- wait, that wasn’t supposed to-” He pauses to let out a heavy sigh. “Akamatsu-san, please open your hands.”

She does, quickly, and out tumbles a tiny crystal. She gasps, looks back to the table- where a rose petal and a wooden toad sit side by side.

“I am so sorry, Akamatsu-san,” Amami says, ruefully gathering up the cards again. “I’m afraid I may have cursed you, too.”

Kaede can only stare at him, slowly picking up the crystal again. It’s a little blue thing, probably just glass, but shining in the light it could be a sapphire. Then she breaks into laughter again, clapping wildly. Saihara follows her lead, and Amami stands up to bow. “That was amazing!” She holds out the jewel to him, and he only shakes his head, his smile growing more mysterious.

“Keep it,” he says. “To make up for the inconvenience of my spell upon you.”

God, this guy is just too cool. Kaede thinks she might be growing a little pink. “O-okay, thank you!” She looks down at the crystal again and smiles, then carefully tucks it away. “That was so cool, Amami-kun! I’m really impressed.”

“How did you do it?” Saihara asks, quietly, a hand against his mouth as he leans over to watch Amami pick up the wooden toad and the petal, click his fingers and make them vanish as if they were never there at all.

Amami taps the side of his nose. “Ah, a good magician never reveals his secrets.” But he laughs when Kaede pouts at him and leans back, slinging an arm over the back of his chair. “Hoshi, what do you think?”

The short boy investigating the windows looks over. He scans Amami briefly, then shrugs. “Sleight of hand and misdirection, obviously. Wasn’t watching, but I assume that tale you were spinning was a good distraction from whatever else you were doing.”

“Aw, can’t you have a little fun with it?” Amami laughs, not seeming bothered at all. He seems perfectly at ease in this bizarre situation, all easy movement and jokes. When looks back to Kaede, he grins, dropping his voice to a stage whisper. “Hoshi-kun here’s the ultimate detective. He seems to think he’s living in a crime flick.”

“When you’ve seen the kind of things I have, your perspective tends to get a little soured,” Hoshi says dryly, crossing his arms.

A small gasp comes from behind Kaede. She turns to see Saihara, his eyes wide and a hand up against his mask. “I know you,” he says, the sound coming out a little muffled. “You’re the high schooler who hunted down an entire crime ring after they…”

“After they killed my family, yes.” Something dark and muddy glints in Hoshi’s eyes, and he turns away, pulling at his trilby hat. Kaede feels her mouth go dry.

She’s heard of Hoshi Ryoma, she realizes, although she wasn’t able to place his face until Saihara spoke. He was a good student- a prodigy- she doesn’t know the full story, but she knows that one of his cases ended with him making some powerful enemies. She remembers seeing his court sentence all over the news, seeing his mugshots. She remembers how people looked at her after it happened- _That’s what happens to Ultimates. Flew too close to the sun._

“I- I’m sorry,” Saihara stammers. “I didn’t mean to bring it up, I just- I’ve admired you for such a long time!”

“Admired?” the detective laughs, lowering his head. “Nothin’ to admire, kid. I’m not a good person, and that wasn’t a good case. Lotta people got hurt because of my actions.” His jaw sets like steel. “Lotta people got hurt _from_ my actions. If I didn’t have connections with the law, I’d be locked up right now.” A bitter laugh escapes him as he turns back to the windows, tapping one stubby finger against a bar. “Guess I am, though. Just with you guys. Any of you do anything to get yourselves trapped here?”

Kaede bites her lip. “N-no, but- we’re all ultimates, right? It’s probably something to do with that, right, Saihara?”

“Ah- yeah. I mean, th-that’s what I think, but-” Saihara suddenly clamps his mouth shut. He won’t look away from Hoshi at all- like all those chains dangling around his neck have suddenly yanked tight and wrapped him in place.

“No, you’re probably right,” Hoshi says, moving on to inspect a chained up door. He doesn’t look back to them at all. “Got a good head on your shoulders, kid, but you got a ways to go. Have you thought much about the fact we’re in a school?”

Kaede blinks. She looks to Saihara again, but he’s ducked his head to stare at the ground and seems less willing to speak than ever, so she turns to Hoshi. “...no?”

“Check your pockets.” 

Simultaneously, Saihara and Kaede fumble in their pockets, Amami watching with his chin in his hand. Kaede gasps softly, thinking she’s pulled out her phone, before she realizes it’s not. “What-”

“Just turn ‘em on,” Hoshi instructs.

**Welcome to your MonoPad, Akamatsu Kaede!**

Kaede scrolls through it frantically- a map, notes on the students she’s met, a list of school rules that she can’t access. “What…”

“Rules are up here, too,” Hoshi says, jerking his head toward them. He pulls the brim of his hat down again. “Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while.”

Kaede flicks through the pad again, and again. Saihara moves over to stand by Hoshi- the two of them standing like a grim odd couple, one willowy and caved in, one short and grounded. He reads the rules on the wall softly and she barely processes it.

How long are they going to be here? Does everyone have one of these? Who put in all this money? All this time? Who found sixteen ultimates and decided to trap them here? Why? Why a school?

“Akamatsu-san,” Amami calls out, and she blinks through it all to stare at him. He’s smiling, soft and reassuring, as he beckons her over again. 

“What?” she asks, feeling the way her chest rises and falls, how heavy her body feels.

“You’re a fighter,” he says, eyes gentle. “I just know you’re gonna be okay.”

Kaede bites her lip. After a moment, she’s able to smile back. 

(She doesn’t even correct him on how post aikido practitioners don’t like to think of it as _fighting._ )

\--

Tenko found her in a classroom, propped up against a wall. 

She’s already over the whole kidnapping thing- frankly, she’d expected it. Gross old men, probably, dragging them to a school to meld them into little soldiers or slaves or servants- they’ll want to make them do perverted things, like- like-

Well, she’s not really sure. Her teacher never went into that much detail about what they might do. But she knows it’s _bad._

That’s why she’s had a wrench in hand -her sturdiest one- the entire time, a fistful of bolts in one hand like a knuckle duster, ready to fight and scrabble and kick her way out. Tenko thinks the only time she isn’t humming with energy is when she’s working, and even then- even then-

Back to _her._

She is tiny, and red-headed, and sitting on a table. Her left arm is open, and the wires inside are hanging out, twisted together and frayed- looks like something burst, almost intentionally. Tenko’s too shy to mess with her too much while she was sleeping, so she doesn’t now how far it extends, but the inner workings of the hand mimic a human’s anatomy- steel bones and wires like veins and the structure is enough to have her _drooling._

Her red hair hangs in a tight bob around her face, and her slight body sits folded up in a bundle of loose robes that seem attached to her skin by big, metal panes- a cute little cape hanging around her shoulders. It’s impossible not to stare, following the bolts and lights back up to her face, to the long dark lines hanging under her eyes, marking her as something otherworldly.

Tenko takes a breath and looks back down to her wrist. Carefully, she twists the wires back together and shuts the hatch- if she’s right about the anatomy, the robot’s right hand will be out of commission, but probably….

She reaches up to feel around her neck, where a pulse might be if she were human. Her hair feels silky. Polyester?

“I’m sorry, robot-san,” Tenko whispers. “I hope you don’t mind me touching you.” She knows she’d be scared if she woke up to a stranger messing with her face, but-

Something clicks in face. The familiar whirr of computer processors starts up.

Those doll eyes flicker, and blink, and a crackle of red runs down the lines on her face as the robot sits up.

“Woooooo,” she says, as she rises like Frankenstein, distant and exhausted, like she’s recited this a thousand times before- her voice is slurring slightly, and Tenko wonders if she might need a change of batteries. “I am…. H1-M1. But you can call me…. Himiko.” She reaches up to rub her eyes, the movements slightly stiff, like she’s a doll who’s joints are pulled with string. “And I am… the ultimate ghost!”

Tenko thinks she’s forgotten how to speak.

The robot- H1-M1- _Himiko-_ blinks a few more times, then turns to stare at her. “You’re not the professor,” she murmurs, still slurring a little.

“I’m Tenko!” Tenko says.

Himiko reaches up to rub her eyes with her left wrist. “My right hand is broken,” she says. “I can hear it chirping in my CPU.”

“Are you really a ghost?” Tenko asks, stupidly.

Cyborg- ghost- miracle of machinery that is processing so much so quickly and responding to what she sees around her, really responding- sighs, curling her upper lip. Tenko watches the plastic move and her cheeks dimple under those dark black lines. “Well, I guess they call me the ultimate robot. But really, I’m a ghost! I’m just possessing this robot because my real body died long ago.” She smiles, finally, and Tenko- she can’t even begin to process this herself. If Himiko is a supercomputer, Tenko is a roomba that hasn’t figured out how to stop bumping into things.

“You’re an AI?”

“I’m a _ghost,_ ” the girl stresses, folding her arms. She pauses. “I’m just limited by the body I possess right now. I can do magic, if I work up the MP for it.

Finally, Tenko’s mouth figures out how to work again. She bounces up on her toes. “Himiko-san, you’re so amazing! You really must be a ghost, because I don’t think- I mean, AIs are pretty advanced right now, but I’ve never seen anything respond to stimulus like you! Oh, please, please, can I run some tests later? N-not anything bad! Or- you can say no, you can say whatever you want, but, oh, Himiko-san, you’re so _wonderful!_ ”

She’s left breathless by her own gushing. Too much energy. Too out of control. When she gets like this, she has to take a break from work in risk of snapping her cards.

Speaking of-

Tenko rapidly fumbles in her pockets, and turns out- absolutely nothing. No chips. No cards. No months of hard work compressed onto tiny supercomputers into tiny boxes and stored safely away. For a moment, she’s so angry that someone would take her hard work that she sees red.

The Himiko shrugs a shoulder and she shrieks in excitement and punches the air. 

She pulls out the next best thing- a stack of notecards- and flips through the labels until she finds one on artificial intelligence and begins rapidly scribbling overtop of her previous notes. Her other ideas can go to hell. This is _insane._

“Who are you?” Himiko asks, half-exhaustion, half-suspicion.

“Oh!” Tenko looks back at her, her cheeks flushing red. “Ah, um- I’m- I’m- I’m-”   
Before she knows what she’s doing, she’s dropped into a full bow, reciting her name and title like a chant. “I’m Chabashira Tenko, the ultimate inventor! It’s really nice to meet you!” Bouncing back up again, she tucks her hands behind her back so they won’t shake. The floral decoration in her hair bounces with her. “Although- I guess I’m not the ultimate inventor, because whoever invented you must be!”

Himiko blinks slowly. “The professor is too old to have an ultimate title.” Suddenly, she smiles, a little proud, and the range of expression on her face is too much to take in. How many individual points of articulation does she have?? “I’m the ultimate robot because the professor says I age like a real girl- but really, I haven’t aged in two hundred years…. I’m still a normal sixteen year old, though.” She yawns- a robot yawning- and lifts her chin. “It’s cool that you’re an inventor. Maybe you can help free me from this cursed body.”

“Ah, no, s-sorry…” Tenko lowers her head, growing increasingly flustered. “I’m- I’m really just a tinkerer, I’m- I’m not smart, I’m just good at putting things together, and I-”

Himiko waves a hand. “I’ll teach you how to use my magic,” she offers, and neither the deadpan voice or the fact Tenko doesn’t know how to even begin with magic dampen her excitement at all.

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just nods stupidly until Himko’s eyes slip shut, and then she blurts out half a word and panics. “Um- just- I was just wondering what sort of things Himiko-san can do, as a robot..” She presses her fingertips together, scraping a shoe over the ground.

Himiko yawns again, covering her mouth with a hand. “This body was only built to house an AI,” she says, mildly. “It has the strength of an average girl, and no special skills. It’s only the ultimate robot because I decided to possess it! My ghostly abilities earned my- its creator fame and fortune!” She holds her hands out like she’s summoning her magic right there. 

“Wow, Himiko, the inventor of that body must be so lucky! It’s really amazing how you were able to make use of the coding in the body. I guess you can power it through your spiritual powers?” Tenko has to bite her lip to make herself shut up. “Can you do any tricks?”

Himiko’s eyes slide sideways. “I… don’t like to waste my spirit energy on stuff like that. I have to be charged.” She yawns again. “Speaking of, I’m really low on battery…”

Well, curses and ghosts and magic are all a little bit beyond Tenko. She still doesn’t know the extent of Himiko’s intelligence- the way she works, how she’s powered. What laws she’s confined by.   
But low batteries and broken wires? She can fix that.

“Don’t worry, Himiko! I’ll find a way to charge you!”

\--

They’re looking around the game room now, after greeting another set of curious students, Kaede having a go at playing pool while Saihara sorts through the board games.

After a particularly good shot, she props up the pool cue and leans against it as she stares over at her companion. Saihara is as dark and willowy as ever, fidgeting with something against the shelves.

“What’s that?” She asks, moving to his side and leaning over his shoulder. Saihara jumps, scattering cards over the floor. He bends over to pick them up, hastily, his fingers almost shaking where they peak out from those dark gloves. When Kaede tries to lean down, too, he picks them up even faster, sweeping them into his hands.

“Ah- tarot cards,” he says, quickly cutting the deck and shaking them until they line up. “They’re… pretty interesting, one of the most popular forms of modern divination. This is a European deck; there’s theories that their most common design is linked to the _Kabbalah_ \- here, see, you can see Hebrew on this card.” He traces a finger over it before shuffling it back in with the others, eyes fixed on the movement. “But it has been heavily influenced by Christian Occultism. The idea of fortune-telling with cards has roots in plenty of cultures, though. You can technically read tarot with a deck of normal playing cards, but… only the minor arcana.” His voice is soft enough to be called lilting- gentle. It’s like a tea light flickering on your bedside table. Kaede watches him shuffle the cards until he has them folded into a deck again- neat, compact, not one out of place.

She’s had her fortune read before- at kitschy themed cafes, in mmorpg events, at festivals. She remembers coming away from it giggling, whispering to her sister, her friends, running ahead to go fill her palms with goldfish or order another overpriced pastry.

“Can you read them?” She asks, reaching out to take them from him. She turns the first card over- _The World,_ it reads. A woman stands bare while a snake weaves around her body, circling.

Saihara is still for a very long moment before he shakes his head and turns the card over, tucking it back in. 

“I’m more of a social anthropologist than a cultural one,” he says, before he sets the deck down and moves to look around further.

\--

“You are an artist too, then?”

The giant looks up from his work- ballpoint pen on napkin. Korekiyo leans over his shoulder and sees spiralling patterns- fractals of landscapes, snowy hinterland and swamp and forest and something that might be a city. Each stroke of the pen, even with these meager tools, is precise and beautiful. Kiyo knows enough about drawing to recognize good gesture work. 

“Ah! Yes, Gonta is the ultimate artist!” He pushes the napkin to the side to show it off- Kiyo reaches out with bandaged hands, pauses for a moment, and then lifts it from the table.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, honestly. Somehow, even with the blue ink on its own, this Gonta has given the illusion of color. He’s not sure how, but he can see it in there- vibrant and bursting. Mayhaps it’s just the synesthesia.

“You draw, too?” Gonta asks. 

Kiyo shakes his head and sets the napkin back down, sliding around to sit across the table. He wiggles his long fingers as he sits, propping his elbows on the table. 

“I’m a pianist,” he says, giving his companion a smile that he _knows_ is unsettling, stained bright red and snakelike, as he laces his fingertips together, feels the way the bandages brush over his skin. 

Pianists have delicate hands. So easy to break, and then- poof. It’s all gone. One broken bone would ruin his career. Would ruin his life. Even the skin, the callouses on his carefully-trained fingerprints, the ashy knuckles- moisturized and dried and bandaged to soften the sound. Kiyo only leaves his hands bare to play- or to _play._

“Piano?” Gonta asks, tilting his head. He mimes someone running their fingers over the keys. Kiyo mimics it.

“Piano,” he confirms.

The giant flushes a little, shifting in his seat. “Gonta…. Does not understand words, sometimes,” he murmurs. “Lost in forest for very long time, since Gonta was young. Doesn’t know a lot of things.”

“How did you survive?” Kiyo presses his hands to his face, cool skin on light cloth.

“Raised by wolf family,” Gonta says, his eyes shining. “Taught Gonta to watch, and listen.” He gestures to the drawing, which seems miniscule compared to his broad hands. 

“Ah.” Kiyo tilts his head to stare at it from a different angle. The landscapes fade in and out of focus- a rorschach test with a right answer. “Are these your home?”

Gonta nods again, seeming just as pleased as before. “Home with wolf family,” he clarifies. “Gonta lives in city, now. But he goes to see them on weekends.”

Kiyo laughs quietly- a _ke ke ke_ that got him hissed at on public transport. “What a pleasant custody arrangement. The courts must be pleased.”

Gonta clearly doesn’t understand a word of what that meant. Kiyo waves a hand carelessly.

“My name is Shinguji Korekiyo,” he says. “But you may call me Kiyo, if you wish. I’m the ultimate pianist.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Gonta says, his whole voice shifting into something almost shy. “H-how are Gonta’s manners? Is it nicer to call Kiyo?”

“Your manners are just fine,” Kiyo says, with another smile that would have any normal person running for the hills. Gonta’s eyes crease. 

“Gonta wants to be gentleman,” he says, puffing out his chest- as if it needed to be puffed out any more. “To make wolf family proud. He wants to be in famous art galleries, with many friends.”

Kiyo nods. It makes about as much sense as anything else. “You know, gentlemen often have a taste for classical music,” he says, curling one hand under his chin. “If I find a piano in this place, I’ll play you a few songs.”

Gonta’s eyes light up like a child’s, and suddenly he’s asking all about music, classical and otherwise, what Kiyo would recommend. He’s more than happy to infodump on the poor barbarian.

It’s almost too easy.

\--

“See,” Kaede says, closing the door to the game room as they step back out into the creepy hallway. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

“In that room,” Saihara says, pulling his mask up, as if he was afraid it slipped down at some point. 

Kaede nudges his shoulder as she passes him, moving down the long hallway. “You’re such a pessimist,” she says, half-joking. The hallway really is creepy, and the doors at the end look a little forboding. Still, she presses on- anyone dangerous would have surely heard their footsteps approaching, the way her voice rings out. Kaede is cautious but not afraid. That’s what a situation like this calls for.

“I can’t help it,” Saihara mumbles. Or maybe he’s speaking perfectly clearly and it’s just the mask that muffles his words. “There are a lot of awful sides to humanity, Akamatsu-san. You can be in a lot of danger just by trusting the wrong person.”

“Oh, come on,” Kaede says, opening up the door on the left and stepping inside. The surrounding library is dusty and cool, the air damp and dense. It makes her shiver just a little, and it makes Saihara look even more gloomy as he steps inside. “You can’t be negative about everything. Look, we’re in danger, yes, but we’ve got fifteen other students to rely on, and it’s not like any of them are going to-”

 _“Boo,”_ someone whispers in her air, their hands on her shoulders.

Kaede turns around as fast as she can, and her own hands are already moving, her legs shifting as her stance changes. She finds a forearm before she even sees the person, and has them flying over her shoulder before she can blink, her body moving for her. The stranger yelps, finding themselves upturned on Kaede’s back and then pinned to the floor, all in one smooth movement.

Kaede lets out her breath.  
“Who are you,” she demands, finally taking a chance to look at them.

A tiny boy pouts up at her, his expression childlike and frightened. “I- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you! I just- I was just trying to tease you…” His eyes start to water, and instantly, Kaede releases him and falls back on her knees.

“I’m so sorry!” She knows she hadn’t hurt him- the throw was so familiar and such a staple of aikido, her weight cushioning his fall as he slipped. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be frightening, to find yourself flipped over someone’s shoulder all of a sudden. “Are you alright? Here, let me-”

But before she can help him up, he’s darting away, and then he disappears behind a stack of books. Laughter echoes in the library as he steps out from somewhere else entirely, hands on his hips. Kaede stares from her spot on the floor. 

“Wow,” he says. “I know I’m a great actor, but that was frighteningly naive. Are you going to let anyone get away from you if they cry a little bit?”

Kaede doesn’t often find herself feeling angry. (Earlier conversation with Iruma aside.) Right now, though, she feels frustration twist its way through her ribcage like thorns. She breathes out, pushes it down.

“You look like you’re twelve,” she says, pushing herself to her feet and brushing herself down with as much dignity as possible. “I won’t hurt a child.”

She won’t hurt anyone- but she doesn’t mind implying a threat, just a little bit. She’s still _human_.

“Wah? How mean!” The boy pouts again, then recovers in seconds, inspecting his own nails. “Just kidding. That’s an advantage in my line of work.”

“In your-”

But he’s no longer looking at her, instead staring at Saihara, who shrinks back from his piercing gaze. “Who’re you? The ultimate goth?”

“Ultimate anthropologist,” Saihara murmurs.

Surprisingly, the boy seems to recognize that, and tilts his head curiously. “Huh. Seems an awfully broad field of study to be the best at.”

“You would think,” Saihara replies, quietly.

The boy stares for a moment, then laughs. “No self-esteem _and_ goth! I like it. I always thought you had to have confidence to dress like a total freak, but I guess not, huh?”

“Hey!” Kaede can’t help herself from rising to Saihara’s defense- in the last hour or so with him, exploring the creepy school and looking around, she couldn’t help but begin to label him as a friend- sad and nervous as he seemed. (She’s not usually spoiled for choice.) “I think he suits it.”

“Oh, nobody said he didn’t,” the boy grins. 

She narrows her eyes at him. Something about this- this kid- just rubs her the wrong way. He only smiles wider at her suspicion, cheshire-grin, as he reaches in a pocket and pulls out a pack of cards, dropping them into his hand and shuffling them out casually. 

“I gotta say,” he says, not even looking down at his hands as they flick through the cards, “you’re pretty cranky for an aikido master. Aren’t you guys meant to be more reserved or something?”

“How-” In this dull library, with the scent of rot in the damp air, Kaede feels a chill creep up her neck. She resists the urge to tense up, but her spine feels coiled like a spring. She’s sure Saihara’s muttering _I told you so_ under that mask.

The boy snickers, spreading the cards out in a bridge over the air. It would be impressive if she hadn’t seen Amami’s tricks less than an hour ago.”I hear things, Akamatsu-chan,” he says, sly as anything.

Kaede folds her arms, glaring down at him. She’s not intimidated by this. She won’t let herself be- this is just a brat in a white sweater and a skirt with even more obnoxiously colored buttons all over it. Doing the most basic card tricks she’s ever seen. The only reason she’s on edge is the environment.

It feels like the air keeps growing colder.

“How long have you been following us?” She asks.

He snaps the cards back together. “Long enough.”

“So you already knew-”

“That lovely Saihara-chan here was in the most boring field of study? Yep. And that you were totally flirting with gross Iruma-chan earlier? Also yep.”

“I wasn’t-”

 _“And,”_ he interrupts, leaning in as if to share a secret, hand cupped over his mouth. “I know that this place is inescapable.”

Saihara, finally, speaks up again, a hand against his mask as he stares down at the boy. “What’s your talent?” He asks, quiet as ever. A pause, and for a moment it seems like he’s going to say something important. 

A book tumbles off a nearby table like it’s been pushed by a ghost, and two of them jump in place. The boy grins.

“...You have quick hands,” Saihara finishes.

“If I didn’t, I’d be dead,” the boy sings.

Kaede, at this point, is fed up with this. She doesn’t like being played. She doesn’t like feeling jumpy or on edge. She doesn’t like worrying that she might have hurt someone. “Who are you?” 

He draws himself up, suddenly taking on an authoritarian tone- talking down to them, and sideways, haughty and cruel and mischievous all at once.. “I’m glad you finally asked! Ouma Kokichi, the ultimate assassin- at your service.” He sweeps into a deep bow, almost mockingly, looking up from it to grin. “As long as you can pay.”

“An assassin?” Saihara’s voice wavers. Kaede shifts to stand in front of him and crosses her arms.

“That’s… not a real thing,” she says. 

He straightens up again and shrugs, crossing his arms behind his head. “You’d think so, right? Believe me, I was surprised, too. But if the government wanted to buy my services and train me while they were at it, I wasn’t going to turn them down.” Ouma sighs, dreary and dramatic. “But all that’s done is land me in here, with the rest of you losers. So much for being set for life.”

Kaede’s about to respond with a _there’s no way that’s true,_ when nervous, quiet Saihara, steps forward, tugging at his mask. “What sort of assassin are you?” He asks, sounding simultaneously interested and scared out of his wits.

“Saihara!” She hisses, catching onto his sleeve.

But Ouma seems absolutely delighted, bouncing up on the tips of his feet. “Come closer and I’ll tell you.”  
And Kaede watches as Saihara, nervous, paranoid, shy, her _friend_ Saihara, steps closer and bows his head so Ouma can whisper in his ear- stage whisper, really, because Kaede can hear it just fine when he says, _“a really good one.”_

She crosses her arms. “For the record, I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”

He just smiles at her. “Okay! You know, I wouldn’t believe me, either. But then again, I _am_ a liar.”

Saihara blinks. “So you were… lying?” 

Ouma’s smile doesn’t falter. “Oh, no, the assassin thing wasn’t a lie. I _was_ lying when I said the government trained me, though. My ultimate contract isn’t quite so cushy. Unless that’s the lie?”

“What kind of assassin would just tell people they were one?” Kaede asks, frustrated beyond words.

“One who’s recently been kidnapped and assumes it’ll come out anyway? One who knows people won’t believe him?” Ouma’s grin grows a little darker, and he presses a finger to his lips. “People never believe me. I’m short, and I’m just so cute, and nobody ever expects it until I have a knife in their back.” And all of a sudden, from seemingly nowhere, the cards are gone, and a knife in his hands and Kaede can’t look away from the glint of the blade. 

It’s small, and dull, with a red handle. If she saw it lying in a kitchen she wouldn’t think twice about it.

But it’s not in a kitchen. It’s in this sweet-looking boy’s hands, and he’s twirling it between his fingers like he’s about to do a trick.  
Kaede isn’t afraid. She’s trained to protect, both herself and others, and there’s no way she would let an assassin get to her. But Ouma must think she is, because then he puts on a sugar-sweet smile and bounces up and down again, knife still in hand. She can’t look away, watching the steel shift and darken in the dim light. “Don’t worry! You’re not in any danger. I take _pleasure_ in my work, but I wouldn’t kill for free. It’d flood the market, you know, if I did. And I doubt anyone here could afford my services- not to mention we’re currently trapped. I can’t imagine I’ll have the burning urge to slaughter any of you until we’ve escaped.” He looks away from her and lifts his chin again, back to being haughty. It’s like he’s swapping between masks and costumes- so quickly that she gets whiplash watching him. “I’m not stupid enough to murder my allies.”

Kaede claps her hands together, and the sound makes Saihara jump and shuffle back to her side. “Alright! Saihara, let’s go look at more of the school. I’m sure we’ll find a way out somewhere.”

“Ah, yes,” Saihara stammers, pulling at his mask again and following her to the door.

She’s really had enough of Ouma, actually- whether he’s an assassin or not, ( _not_ , right?) he’s unnerving, and she doesn’t want him telling Saihara weird stuff about murder and whatever for Saihara’s next thesis.

Still, something in his voice makes her stop when he calls out.

“Do you really expect it to be that easy?”

She turns around. His expression is blank, tapping the knife against his cheek.

“I- I mean, of course not,” Kaede stammers. She clenches her fists up, letting out a low breath. “But it’s a start, right?”

Ouma tilts his head, just a little, his eyes wide. “Why do you think there are no people around? Watching us, locking us up? Why give us the run of the whole school?”

Kaede swallows. “Aren’t they watching through the monitors?”

He shrugs. “Seems to me they’d have to be pretty confident to leave sixteen ultimates alone.”

“Then that’s their mistake.”

She stares him down. He stares back, unblinking. 

Kaede turns tail with a huff and grabs Saihara’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Bye-bye, princess-chan and weirdo-boy!” Ouma calls after them, his mocking voice creeping up her back.

She’s not afraid of him. She just can’t stand being in that library a second longer.

\--

There are no bugs here.

Angie notices things like that pretty much immediately. She’s an entomologist, after all- although, at home, she prefers the term _prophet._ Animals are more observant than humans give them credit for- the inching movement of grubs from one side of a tree to another signals upcoming weather changes- the migratory patterns of ants tell you how long the monsoon will last.

But here, there are no bugs to read. If she were a girl of lesser faith, she might take that as a lack of her god’s presence- but you don’t become a priestess through lack of faith. Silence from the gods can signal things just as much as their presence, and when she brushes her hand over the little carved beetle resting in the dip of her collar bones, she feels just as content as she would be on her own island.

She walks through the gardens with a smile, noticing every plant, every root, pushing aside the dirt to look for little creatures. Ants would live in the crack in this wall, there should be worms burrowing under the dirt, there’s not a single aphid on these roses and not one ladybug to scare them off.

She finds her way to a peaceful little enclave, beautiful and pristine, a statue made of marble and rivalling the skill of her own island’s artist.

And a woman standing inside. At least, she thinks it’s a woman, for a moment- white and black pantsuit, silver spiderwebs embroidered through her long coat. But when she tilts her head just _so,_ Angie sees the glint of youth in her eyes- maidenhood, innocence.

She bounces forward, rocks up on the toes of her sturdy boots, gives her fellow prisoner a cheerful wave. “Good morning!” Angie’s Japanese is perfect, if slightly accented- she doesn’t know all the correct social cues yet, but she knows that everyone here is. Considerably more reserved than back home. It feels stifling and isolating, sometimes, being somewhere so different.

But the girl smiles at her like there’s nothing off about her excitable greeting at all, folding her hands in front of her. “A good morning to you, too,” she murmurs. 

“I’m Angie Yonaga,” Angie sings, spreading her arms out and giving a twirl. “I am the ultimate entomologist!”   
She half expects disgust, or confusion, or at the very least, surprise, but all she gets in response is a a soft smile and a bowed head. 

She takes that as a good sign. Perhaps she looks particularly divine today. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

The lady’s expression shifts, for just a moment, her eyes growing just a little sad. “The circumstances are less than ideal, but I’m very glad to meet you- and I assure you,” her voice takes on a stronger tone, determination in her gaze, “as long as I am here, you have nothing to worry about. I will not let a single one of my companions be injured.”

“Ah, what a strong statement!” Angie tilts her whole body sideways, swinging on the arches of her feet to peer forward. This is a clever girl, she can tell, with bold spirit inside her. Angie sees a bee’s wings beating away inside that neat coat, a whole hive at work, running up her spine. “Do I get to know your name, too?”

“Of course,” the girl says, dropping her eyes kindly. “I am Tojo Kirumi. I am known as the ultimate leader, but I prefer to think of myself as a supporter.”

A leader? Ah, but aren’t the people here funny, with their formal language and their tightly-buttoned politicians and their ladies with curls slipping over their eyes. Angie wonders if this leader sees god in the leaves of a tree, can tell how harsh the sickness will hit from the way that an ant tickles her palm. 

This leader, she thinks, has had to fight to get where she is. That’s why she’s so tense. She should watch more. She should listen. 

“Go on, go on!” Angie chirps like a grasshopper, clasping her hands together. “Tell me more! What is a leader?” What is a leader to you?

Kirumi’s expression grows thoughtful, a hand coming to rest against her cheek as she considers the question. “It’s a vague title, I suppose... but, essentially, I am training to lead… politically speaking, that is. I already have a small organization of followers and supporters, and I’m in charge of multiple charity and political groups.”

“Ah, ah, such work!” Angie bounds forward and links their arms together, squishing herself against the girl’s side. She feels her recoil slightly and hugs on tighter, offering one of her cheerier smiles. “Ki-ru-mi, I can already tell we’re going to be great friends!”

“Is that so?” Kirumi smiles down at her. She likes Angie. People tend to like Angie a lot.

“Tell me your political beliefs,” she demands, shaking her arm lightly. She gets a soft laugh in response. 

“I believe in unity- assistance where it is needed, benefitting the less fortunate. While I value tradition, I also believe a strong foundation in science and freedom is needed in any country- especially one built on innovation such as ours.” Kirumi inclines her head as she speaks softly. “I got started through school. My parents were never particularly wealthy, but I worked my way up.”

“What about religion?” Angie demands- all the other stuff, she notes and tucks away. Kirumi is someone who values work and discipline, she bets. She also bets that she’d be a lot happier if she’d indulge in a little hedonism. 

If Angie closes her eyes, she can feel a centipede twist itself around her arm. She squeezes up to Kirumi tighter and hums happily. Kirumi probably likes to feel needed.

“Religious freedom is a very important tenement in any society,” Kirumi says, her voice gentle as ever.

“I see, I see.” Hehe. What a clever answer. Kirumi has many clever answers to many clever questions. “Where I come from, I’m a leader myself, you know?”

“Oh?” Kirumi cups a hand to her cheek again. “How interesting. I suppose your society values scholars?”

Scholar- books and words and equations. Angie has labelled and labelled and translated bug after bug, again and again and again. She’s given them all (fake) names in old languages, grouped them into classifications, picked up their little bodies and preserved them in alcohol. She has done all that, yes. It’s just not who she is.

Angie laughs. “My society likes people who can see the messages of god in a burrowing grub.”

Kirumi stares at her for a moment, and then nods, slowly. “How interesting,” she says, politely. “We’ll have to exchange notes, some time.”

“Kirumi, you are soooo nice!” Angie chirps, dragging her forward so that the two of them are walking through the garden now- this empty, lovely paradise. It’s almost like no one is around to see their sins.

But god is always watching.

Kirumi only bows her head again. “It is my duty, as someone who has dedicated themself to leadership.” 

Angie giggles, finally releasing her arm to bounce over and smell a rose. She peeks back over her shoulder, watches how composed Kirumi still seems. “We should definitely talk a lot! I bet I have a lot to teach you.”

Kirumi blinks her slow, sweet eyes. “Whatever you wish.”

\--

Kaede’s fourteen people and is exhausted. She doesn’t think she’s been around this many people since- well, since she started preschool. Her town is pretty small. She’s met a robot who claims she’s a ghost, a political leader, a pianist, an assassin- 

And she’s not sure who this person is, just that their name ( _Momota Kaito_ ) clicks in and lights up on her monopod as she steps into the classroom, Saihara holding the door.

“Hey!” The stranger, the last one in the list on her pad, waves cheerfully. “Have you seen the bars on these windows? Fucked up stuff, right?”

Kaede gives him a soft smile as she lets Saihara in, shutting the door for them both. “Yeah, I guess… this is a pretty weird school, isn’t it?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, firm and comforting all at once. “We’ll be out pretty soon, I reckon. These people must have been pretty stupid to take sixteen ultimates- there’s no way they’ll get away with it! We’ve just got to stay confident and look after each other, and we’ll come out just fine.” He puffs out his chest. “And that’s a guarantee from the rising tennis champion of the world!”

Kaede finds herself liking this stranger, now that she’s taken a closer look and realized he’s a teenager with a scruffy goatee and not a bearded murderer. “I guess you’re the ultimate tennis pro, then?” She doesn’t really follow sport, but she might ask for an autograph anyway. It seems polite.

“Sure am!” He moves around the table and holds out a hand, beaming down at her. “Momota Kaito! Champion of the world!”

It’s- such a bizarre scenario, meeting all these Ultimates, with their bold personalities and even bolder dress sense, with goals she can barely even conceptualize, let alone relate to. This guy is probably a pretty big deal- and here they are, stuck in a prison school together, and he’s looking at her like they’re old friends.

Kaede giggles as she takes his hand. She can’t help it. He shakes it firmly but not too hard, not like he’s trying to intimidate her. (She’s never intimidated when boys try that, but she does immediately decide she’s going to kick their asses.) “Akamatsu Kaede, master of aikido!”

“You practice aikido?” His eyes widen momentarily, and so does his grin. “Wow! Man, I’ve got so much respect for you guys. My trainer had us get into aikido for a bit to help align our ki and whatever, and- bro- I swear my mind got so calm and shit. I could’ve probably become a telepath. Super tough, though! That’s awesome.”

Kaede would be lying if she said she wasn't flattered. Momota Kaito is already a pretty good dude in her books, even if he does talk a bit like a cheesy shounen protagonist. Shows about plucky fighters with hearts of gold are a bit of a guilty pleasure of hers. “Thanks! I think tennis is a pretty cool sport, too. I tried to pick it up one summer, but I just spent all my time chasing after the ball.”

“Your partner must not have been taking care of you, then.” Momota’s brow furrows like this is a grave sin, more harmful than anything else. “A good partner slows down and waits to make sure you’re hitting your shots before dialling it up! Don’t worry- when we get out of here, I’ll show you a proper tennis match.”

“O-okay,” Kaede laughs, a little taken aback by the sudden promise. She looks over to Saihara, lurking behind her with his shoulders hunched, and grins. “Saihara, come introduce yourself!” Momota could probably drag the shy boy out of his shell- if anyone could. 

Saihara shuffles over. “Ah… hi,” he says, hand to his mask. “It’s- it’s nice to meet you, Momota-kun.”

“You too!” Momota is already shaking the other boy’s hand. “You’re Saihara, then?”

“Yeah.” Saihara nods, looking sort of pleased and nervous all at once. “I- I think I’ve seen a match of yours, once.”

“Really? That’s so awesome.” Momota finally releases Saihara’s hand, grinning at him. “I like your mask, dude, it’s super cool. Are you in cosplay or something?”

“Ah, no, although there is a cosplayer a few floors up…” Saihara mumbles something else, before he draws his voice back up again. “I just, ah. I like the mask?”

“Fair enough!” Momota says cheerfully. “What’s your talent?”

“....Ultimate anthropologist.”

This clearly means nothing to Momota. Kaede adds on a helpful “it’s the study of people.”

“Oh! That’s so awesome, dude. You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime!” Momota glances around them. “Once we’ve all made a plan to get out of here, we should get together and play some games, right?”

“Right!” Kaede agrees. “Group spirit will be important for us to get through this!”

“That’s my kinda girl,” Momota says happily- and oddly enough, it doesn’t sound like a flirt, just like he really genuinely enjoys being around positive girls. Kaede can’t help but smile at him. 

She’s about to open her mouth and ask Saihara what he thinks, when the monitor in the room glitches and flickers to life.

 **ALL STUDENTS MAKE WAY TO THE GYM,** it flashes, and then plays the message aloud. **ALL STUDENTS MAKE WAY TO THE GYM.**

All three of them stare up at it. The easy atmosphere is gone like somebody clicked their fingers and lowered the temperature twenty-five degrees.

“Don’t worry,” Momota says, after a moment. “I’ll protect you.”

Kaede likes Momota, but she still raises an eyebrow. “I can protect myself.”

“Then I’ll protect Saihara!” He immediately switches, sending her a look that makes her mouth twitch into a smile. 

“I’m protecting Saihara,” she says.

“G-guys,” Saihara stutters.

Momota laughs and claps the poor boy on the shoulder, then turns to wink at Kaede. “Come on, Akamatsu,” he says, heading for the door. “Between the two of us, and Saihara’s brains- there’s nothing we can’t handle!”

“That’s right!” She says. “And when we’re all there, all sixteen of us with all our talents, they’ll have no idea what to do!! They aren’t even ready for it!”

Momota’s eyes are burning with passion now. “Yeah!!!” He roars, then charges for the door, slamming it open and sprinting into the hallway before he turns back. “C’mon, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

Kaede grins back at him and runs out, pumping her arms. She knows they’re ready for it. She knows they’re ready for them. She knows whoever put them here must be powerful, and smart, and wealthy. She knows all of that. 

But she can feel Momota’s _ki_ calling to her, his bold energy responding to her own, and what sort of aikido master would she be if she didn’t respond to that call?

Kaede pumps her fists and gives a couple high kicks that she’d never actually use in a match, just for show. Momota cheers her on as she twirls back and holds a hand out to Saihara. 

“C’mon, slowpoke,” she calls, with a cheeriness she’s forcing herself to feel. “Let’s go and get this all sorted out!”

After a few moments, Saihara follows, his eyes somewhere distant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so writing mysteries is. very hard uwu. so please (not so much now but in future) do leave comments about where you think it's going so i can know if i need to misdirect/make it more/less obvious/clarify things/whatever!!!
> 
> iruma won our first poll by a LANDSLIDE making her the first person our duo bumped into and! the first person to win a FTE yay!! 
> 
> also i KNOW some characterization in here is off/weird (looking at saihara) but.... give em time im developing em............ its the first chapter b nice  
> also also! next chapter gets two days! but in between this and the next one i will post some refs for the cast! so look forward to my shitty doodling. you can ignore those refs completely though and imagine what you like! anything super important will be stated in text i just like 2 draw new costumes......... goth saihara...........


	3. the opponents are assessed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harukawa glances at her, and then away. “Those were bold words,” she says, quietly. “You have a gift for bringing the group together, and a strong will.”
> 
> Kaede finds herself flushing, pressing her fingertips together. “Oh, you’re too nice. I just- I know that we’re better than this. Killing someone is. It’s wrong. It’s beneath all of us. And- and I know we’ll find a way out as long as we work together! We can’t give up!”
> 
> Harukawa’s brow furrows. “It wasn’t a compliment,” she says, flatly. “You’re making yourself a target for whoever’s running this.”
> 
> “I-” Kaede would be lying if she said she wasn’t taken aback. “I’m… I’m just trying to inspire the others. It’s part of aikido’s philosophy-”
> 
> Harukawa huffs, pulling at one of her long pigtails. The locket around her neck slides with the movement. “Just be aware about what you’re doing,” she says, fingers snagging in her dark hair. “This isn’t all fun and games. There’s real danger here.”  
> Her eyes slide over to Saihara. “You shouldn’t trust anyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha so i cannot keep my promises!!!!! Unfortunately for everyone i am NO LONGER in quarantine which i realized is. Why im not going to be able to daily updates anymore! Dont know why it took me so long to put those puzzle pieces together that like- yeah i have to do other stuff as well now!! But yeah i have. Studies and bars and friends and shit!!!! I am no longer trapped in my home. Which is good bc i ALSO just moved house which made me so tired. Irl has been a lot lately but What Can You Do?
> 
> Thank u to my lovely teri for being enthusiastic enough about this for basically forcing me to write. This was a Hard Chapter bc i hate Plot Setup and think it’s boring and i skim it when i read other fanfic bc its BASICALLY RECAPPING RULES WE ALREADY KNOW BUT THE REACTIONS ARE IMPORTANT AND IC OULDNT LEAVE IT OUT AND. ugh. Im actually looking forward to writing the trials more than this and the trials are hard. Catch me doing the minimum possible amount of recapping. how is this almost 20k words. i hope you are well fed.  
> not betaed bc i didnt sleep and i just want it DONE im so sorry abt the running theme of my chapters bein a mess
> 
> CW: at one point a character refers to themself as a psycho. (it’s the mastermind.) this portion is written in second person, so it might be a little jarring! (also, feedback on that- creepy or too much or meh?)

An aikido master, a tennis player, and an anthropologist walk into a bar. 

Two of them duck.

Saihara’s still rubbing his forehead when they open the doors to the gym, and Kaito is muttering something about shitty architecture and how dangerous concussions could be, but Kaede’s sort of tuned them out at the moment. Tension’s been creeping through her skin ever since they set out, her eyes flicking over the dim corridors that surround them.

A crushed soda can in a corner. Stained-glass windows covered in bars. Almost red lighting humming through the dim. Things that seem just a little out of place- lockers that aren’t in alphabetical order, aren’t in any order at all but still have their names carved in like little graves. Posters and pamphlets pinned to the walls like a school that was abandoned a long time ago. There’s no hope in here.

Saihara stops, just as they’re approaching the dark doors. Kaede turns to him, concerned and ready to offer comfort, but Momota beats her to it.

“You okay, Saihara-kun?” He asks, giving him a thumbs up as if that’ll clear all of his worries.

“Yeah, I-” Saihara pauses, then shakes his head. “I just got a really weird sense of deja vu.”

Kaede blinks, pausing to wrap her arms around herself. Is that what’s making her feel so anxious? Is that why she can feel sweat pooling at the nape of her neck? Just deja vu. Why does this seem so familiar?

“Huh, you too?” Momota wonders, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “I thought it was just because I spent so much time around gyms. You know, with tennis. Are you a big gym buff too, Saihara?” He nudges him teasingly, and Kaede laughs, releasing her grip on her own arm. It’s no big deal.

They’re the last ones in when they finally make their way to the hall- Kaede scans around to find familiar faces, a friendly wave from Amami, Harukawa’s eyes sliding away, Ouma smiling as he tosses a knife through the air. 

Others, too, that she met while wandering around. Angie still seems attached to Tojo’s side, but she calls out a cheery “Yoo-hoo!” as they step inside. Shinguji is lurking somewhere at the back, and she can practically hear his laughter when their eyes meet. Kiibo and Shirogane who they met in the dorms- Kiibo seems a little more confident now, but Shirogane looks a little dazed as she stares at everyone. She did seem kind of shy. Gonta is talking enthusiastically to or at Hoshi, who is busy examining the stage and paying him little attention. Chabashira blushes when Kaede smiles at her- she’d grown pretty flustered when she was complimented, earlier. H1M1 is still by her side, plugged into one of the outlets in the corner of the room, and she gives Kaede a sleepy wave before going back to ignoring Chabashira’s excited rambling about… ghosts, or magic, or something. Iruma is lingering near the both of them, occasionally cutting in to say something that makes Chabashira turn red and visibly sweat. 

“Hey guys!” Momota says from Kaede’s left shoulder, his hockey jacket flapping behind him. She has to resist the urge to lean around and pull his arm inside and do it up for him.

Saihara says nothing, just looks around thoughtfully. Kaede inhales.

“Hi, everyone,” she says, giving them her brightest smile. “Let’s-” 

_Get through this together,_ she was going to say, but she doesn’t get a chance, because Iruma cuts in instead. “What the fuck is going on?” she barks, staring right at them. “Hey, you! Did you find anything useful or were you too busy collecting boys for your threesome?”

“Did _you_ find anything useful?” Kaede counters, at the same time Momota says “don’t talk about her like that!”

Predictably, Iruma shrinks back and shrieks. Kaede can already feel a headache coming on at the tea-kettle noise.

“She has a point,” Hoshi says gruffly, one hand coming up to scratch his throat. He’s so small against the stage- if it weren’t for the intense aura that follows him, he would seem so vulnerable.  
But there’s something about his face when he says “there’s no way out,” that makes Kaede shudder.

“Not one that we’ve found, at least,” Amami says soothingly. “And maybe now that we’re-”

Harukawa interrupts him, her voice cold. “Our captors will explain our predicament.”

“...Right,” he finishes, a little uncertainly. “I mean, that’s why they gathered us, right?”

“Child slavery,” Hoshi says suddenly, pulling a cigarette from his breast pocket and a lighter from his jeans. “Trafficking. They clearly intend to keep us here. The little bears said the labs were to develop our talents- so maybe they want to sell our services. Or maybe this is just one, big, ultimate-themed brothel.”

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaah,” Chabashira wails suddenly, lunging over to cup her hands over the metal plates on either side of H1M1’s head. “Don’t say such horrible things! As if I would ever let them do something like that to Himiko!”

“She’s not the only one you should be worried about,” Hoshi replies, gaze dark. Kaede resists the urge to shudder, instead pushing to the center of the gym, Momota and Saihara flanking her either side.

“I- I just don’t understand why they don’t have anyone monitoring us,” Saihara says quietly. “If they really want to sell us or our talents, wouldn’t it make sense to have someone protecting the merchan-”

“Shut the fuck up and stop being such a perv,” Iruma barks, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve dealt with my share of grabby idiots at cons- if anyone wants a go at these puppies, they better be hot!”

“Good to know our priorities are in order,” Kaede mutters, taking the time to glance around the gym again. It looks- well, like your typical school gym. Chairs stacked to the sides, the game court clear where all of them stand- And a big stage, like this might double as an auditorium, too. The red curtains frame the empty stage- nothing there but a lectern in the very center, microphone already equipped. Something about it feels off.

“Well, doesn’t sound all bad,” Ouma drawls, flipping his blade through the air and then catching it on a fingertip. He catches Kaede’s eye, too, and gives her a grin full of sharp teeth. “I never turn down steady work! As long as they’re keeping me comfortable, I’m happy. I’m used to preeeeetty luxurious treatment.” 

“Be quiet, you lying… liar,” H1M1 whines, casting a glowing glare at him. Ouma just grins wider.

“You’re pretty bold to say stuff like that to me, robo! I’ve got a kill count of over ten thousand!” There’s some nervous shuffling in response to that, and he snickers- the _ni~shi~shii~_ trembling in the air like an actor’s warble. “But you guys don’t need to worry. They were all awful, bad people! Innocent people don’t get assassins called on them, y’know. I only kill evil people that other evil people pay me to kill!”  
His face turns blank as he twirls the knife around until he’s got it clutched in his fist. “But that’s just a lie.”

“Sh-shut up,” H1M1 stutters, shrinking back. Chabashira looks two seconds from pouncing on the boy, held back only by… by whatever it is that makes Ouma feel intimidating even though he’s 5’1 and looks half starved.  
(Kaede knows not to judge people by appearances, particularly when it comes to self defence. She remembers how he was familiar with aikido, how he skipped away like it took no effort, how he disappeared in the dark.)  
She chalks it up to the knife in his hand and smiles kindly at H1M1 instead. “It’s okay, Himiko. You’ve got Chabashira-chan taking care of you, right?”

“I won’t let anything happen to Himiko-san!” Chabashira trills, bouncing to her feet. “You can count on me, Akamatsu-san, I won’t let that degenerate do anything awful to her!” 

Ouma just laughs quietly and slips his knife away. 

“Fascinating,” Shinguji murmurs, wrapping his slender arms around his frail form, bandaged fingers curling around his own arms. “The different ways you all respond to stress… it truly is musical. I can hear a song pouring from each of your throats, yes- such a fast tempo. Humanity is so full of sound!”

“Beautiful,” Shirogane murmurs after him. Shinguji gives the maid a blood-red smile.

“What a weirdo,” Momota whispers. Kaede nudges him admonishingly, but she can’t help but agree. Shinguji’s vibes are… questionable.

The conversation moves quickly- Tojo is telling them to remain calm, Iruma is barking curses, Gonta is promising to protect them all like a gentleman, Harukawa is saying something biting, Angie is telling them all to beg god for forgiveness, Kiibo is hotly informing her that religion is a personal choice, Shirogane is quietly trying to placate them all, and Kaede is bouncing between everything like she’s in the middle of randori training, fending off attacks from every direction. 

Suddenly, Shirogane freezes. “Um,” she says, so quiet that it’s hard to hear, that Kaede has to shake Momota to draw his attention to it. “Does anyone else hear that?”  
Kaede tenses, listens- and she feels it as soon as she hears it- the shake of floorboards. Something big approaching. Approaching fast.

“Everyone behind me,” she says lowly, arms spread. Infuriatingly, both Momota and Tojo move to stand by her side, but the rest of the class are quick to acquiesce as Kaede finds her way to the front of the gym, arms bared, ready to protect her companions. The ends of her sleeves slip down to bare the sweatbands around her wrists, and she draws her palms flat and draws her breath as the sound of stomping speeds up.

When five enormous robots crash through the gym doors, she has a moment where she thinks _I’m going to die here,_ and then, soon after, _I hope some others escape._

“It’s MECHA!!” Iruma shrieks from behind her, and Kaede can’t tell if it’s fear or excitement.

The robots- mecha suits- line up in front of the gym doors, barring the exit, and Kaede grits her teeth and glances between their movements. She’s a defensive fighter, and she’s the _best,_ but even she isn’t sure if she can protect fifteen people from five different attackers. Still, she tries.  
Doors behind them- they’re big and unwieldy, but those coiled tails move fast, and the whole robot moves like it’s breathing, like it’s in idle animation. They’re clearly designed to target things on the ground- she could maybe throw people overhead, but that would surely only work once. Momota is clearly physically capable. Gonta, too, and Harukawa looks fit- she’s sure Ouma can put up a good fight. And if these are robots, she won’t have to worry about hurting them.

Kaede shifts stances and pulls her hands into fists. It’s time to give them everything she’s got.

And then one of the oversized, enormous killing machines, lifts it head to roar and what comes out is-  
“ARE YOU FUCKERS READY TO _ROOOOOCK?”_

“Monokid,” a different oversized killing machine simpers, “That’s no way to treat our new guests.”

“Guests?” The yellow one is speaking now, rearing up and sending a hail of machine gun bullets into the ceiling. “Frankly I expect nothing from these-” whatever it says next is cut off by another round of gunfire. Most of the students hunker down instinctively- but the worst they get is a rain of shell-casings and the acrid smell of gunpowder.

More bickering between the robots follows, and Kaede can only stare, her ears still ringing. She looks at them again- this time noting the placement of artillery on them, the unnerving way their jaws slot open, the smell of fuel. She doesn’t like this. Everything about these machines screams danger, unbeatable. 

Kaede can beat anything. She’ll do anything to protect people. But this? This isn’t _real._ These things aren’t real. They can’t be. 

“Incredible,” Saihara whispers, which she guesses must be his word for terrifying.

“-but how rude of us!” Kaede catches the last of a sentence when she zones back in, her ears still ringing a little. She thinks the pink machine is speaking again. “We haven’t even introduced ourselves!”

“What do you think of the exisals?” The red one crows. “Dad had them custom built just for us! Only we can control ‘em- except when they’re on free roaming mode.”

“Dad can control them too,” the yellow one says. The green one, hovering nearby, is silent.

“Oh yeah! Well, anyway-” There’s the pop of a button and then gas spills out from the machines and Kaede steps back, preparing to be submerged in unconsciousness- 

And then the visors on each robot pop open and four tiny bears flip out of the machines, landing behind them in the center of the gym. Kaede turns quickly and hurries to the front, ready to defend-

But the bears don’t attack. Instead, they meet together in a pose, and chirp, in high-pitched, squirrelly voices, some kind of catch phrase that means _nothing_ to Kaede.

“Are you guys ready for your killing school semester?” The red bear chips, punching its fists - paws - in the air. 

“‘Killing school’?” Gonta echoes, a little uncertainly.

“Yeah, for the killing game, dumbass!” The blue bear pulls a guitar from seemingly nowhere and strikes it hard- a single, off-key chord reverberates further than such a small guitar should be able to reach.

Kaede can practically _hear_ Ryoma giving the bears one of his Looks, even without glancing behind her. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘killing game’?” He asks, voice cool.

“I love games! And killing!” Ouma chirps. Kaede glances over her shoulder to glare at him.

The green bear, finally, steps forward. It almost looks like it takes a few moments to build up its courage, but then it manages to get a few words out- its mouth doesn't move at all, but its eyes flash with every syllable. “WE. ARE HOSTING. AN UNFORTUNATE. GAME. YOU WILL-”

_“And that’s enough of that!”_

All five little robo-bears look up for a split second as a different voice plays, their mouths moving in junction like there might be some sort of meaning congealing there- and then their heads are separated from their bodies in one smooth swipe, pink splattering over the squeaky floor.

Kaede covers her mouth with her hands.

“Let’s stick with a more….. Classic design!” The voice echoes through again- high pitched and sharp and somehow four times as irritating as the little bears.  
“White and black are always in style, right?” It chirps from above them- and the whole group turns as one as a larger bear drops onto the stage in front of them.

It’s got to be a little past Kaede’s knees. Simpler than the other ones- white, black, no complicated design. As it stares at them, it reaches behind itself to rub the pink on its paws against its own cotton.

“You- you fucking killed them,” Iruma stammers.

“They got _so_ annoying, so fast,” it shrugs. “And such a bother to write for, too! Do you know how many first drafts I procrastinated on because they threw me off so much? I had to get up at midnight to teach them all those witty little one-liners- like, am I their dad or their comedian?”  
“They were your kids?” Momota gets out between gritted teeth. “How could you?”

“Trust me, bozo,” the bear grinned. “Four chapters from now you will be _glad_ I killed them.” His head tilts slightly, paw coming up to that ever-grinning mouth. One side black, one white. Yin and yang. Two parts not quite split evenly. “Besides, they really were a bother, yknow. There’s only so much “popping up to interrupt a scene with meta-commentary” that I can really handle!”

Kaede bites her lip, attention drawn to something he said earlier. “Chapters?” 

“In your semester!” The bear claps its hands together, then jumps up- twirls overhead, over its dead children, over the teenagers gathered there, until it lands on the podium and strikes a pose. It’s all very moe. It looks like it could be the helpful animal companion in a magical girl anime- but more _Kyubey_ than _Luna._ “Welcome back to school!”

Momota steps forward, shaking a fist. “What kind of sick joke is this?”

“A very funny one,” Ouma snickers, fingers curled against his mouth. Kaede casts a glare at him.

The bear frowns, propping itself up. “Hey, this is no joke! You should be polite to your headmaster!”

“Headmaster,” Harukawa repeats.

It stands up and gives a little twirl. Kaede watches it go round and round like a spinning top- and even when it’s stopped moving she still thinks she can see the afterimage. Is she dreaming? 

“That’s right!” It strikes another pose. “Me, headmaster Monokuma!”

“So, you just want us to go to school?” Amami asks, uncertainly. “Then we’re not going to have to play that- killing game or anything, right?”

And then headmaster Monokuma’s eye glints and the whole world seems to fall apart. 

“The school is the killing game,” he says, cackling deep in his circuits, the sound like thunder and violence and faulty wiring all at once. “The rules are simple. You’re trapped here for eternity. You can use those fancy talent labs we’ve got set up- if you check your monopads, you’ll be alerted when a new one opens up!” He giggles again, and the sound makes Kaede grit her teeth. “You know, like in school! You can really develop your skills while you wait for a rescue that never comes.”

“This is bullshit!” Momota grits out. “We have lives outside of here, you sick bastard!”

The bear presses a hand to its mouth, waddling forward to sit on the edge of the podium and hang its legs off. “What could be more important than your schoolwork?”

“You motherf-”

He’s cut off by Harukawa, leaning forward with dark eyes. “And what about the killing game?”

Shinguji laughs, dark and rattly, like a snake in the grass. “Looking for a way out, Harukawa-san?”

Their pseudo-principal giggles again, leaning forward. “Well, she’s got one!” It sways- there’s something about it’s form that’s not quite right. It doesn’t move like a robot- or, well. H1M1 moves like a human. Even with the visible metal attached to her, she moves like a person. But Monokuma doesn’t move like a person. There’s something cartoonish about him- like he’s not quite bound by the same laws they are. If there’s circuitry in him, it’s elastic, curved, letting him wobble. He looks paper thin and obtusely round all at once. Soft and made of metal.  
It kicks its legs out and wobbles down from the podium. It looks- stupid. Kaede could walk over and punt it like a football if she hadn’t just watched it explode all its children into little pieces.  
“If any of you successfully kills another student- and gets away with the crime- you will then be free to graduate!”

Kaede’s breath catches in her throat. This is so- it can’t-

“If a murder is committed, an **investigation period** will commence. Following the investigation, a **class trial** will begin! The blackened murderer facing off against the spotless students…” The bear shudders dramatically, a drop of drool trailing down its velvety chin. “If the murderer is found guilty by the rest of their peers, they will be punished! But if the class fail to find the blackened… then they will be punished, and the blackened goes free!” Monokuma clasps its paws together. “Isn’t it exciting? Doesn’t it get your blood pumping? You can kill any way you like, you know! Bludgeoning, poisoning, dark arts, slicing, slashing, crushing, stabbing, drowning, impaling, suffocating, beheading, infecting, strangling-”

“Stop it.” The words are out of her before she can think, stepping one foot forward. Kaede inhales slowly, bunching her hands into fists. “Do you really think we’re going to play your- your awful game?” She casts an arm back to gesture at the students behind her. “We’re better than this!”

“I want my professor,” H1M1 trills, clutching at the fabric of her robes. 

The others start to murmur- Kaede can hear them, fear and dissent and anxiety. She raises her voice.  
“Guys,” she says, pushing further forward, staring at the bear. “We are _better_ than this. We’re not going to play along with some stupid killing game. We have people looking for us-”

The bear doesn’t move, but a light flashes in its one red eye. “Don’t be so sure about that,” it says, almost purring. “You’re miles and miles from civilization. Nobody knows where you are- and they couldn’t get in if you did. ….And that’s there really are people looking.” Its voice seems to drop, still keeping that squeaky, micky-mouse pitch even when it growls. “You think I’ll let anything get in my way?”

A few people murmur in frantic concern, but Kaede just raises her voice. “Then we’ll find our own way out!” She says, something sparking in her heart. It’s her ki- the energy in her won’t let this happen. She won’t let someone kidnap sixteen teenagers and lock them up. She won’t let them hurt the bright people she’s met here. “We’ll find our own way out, and we’ll tell everyone about what you tried to do, and we’ll go and protect our families from anything you try!” She turns around, ignoring the bear completely as she bunches her hands into fists. “Because we’re going to work together! And we’re going to fight, like real warriors, with all our talents- they won’t be able to do anything as long as we stick together! Because I know…” And she uncurls her hands, and extends them out, looking to the people with a desperation she feels more than anything. “I know we can get through this together.”

There’s a beat of silence where all she can hear is her own heart thudding in her ears. Then Tojo, gentle, soft-spoken Tojo, steps closer, too. “Akamatsu-san is right,” she says, her voice firm as she raises her chin. “We must work together. The easiest way to conquer a group is by dividing it- that’s exactly what this pitiful killing game is trying to do. We won’t let their cruel tactics reach our hearts.”

“I won’t let any awful degenerates get to me- or get to you guys!” Chabashira says, puffing out her chest, and- before Kaede can blink, she pulls a wrench from… somewhere, and is pointing it at Monokuma like a blade. “They’ve gotta be incredibly stupid to think something like that would work.”

Momota speaks next, stepping up to Kaede’s side and planting a hand on her shoulder. “Akamatsu-san is right,” he says cheerfully. “We’re a bunch of good eggs in a shitty fuckin’ situation. We’ll get out of it, though. I mean, we’re all ultimates! We’re smart, and athletic, and, uh- creative! We can get through any problem with our skills combined!”

Amami laughs, pressing a hand against his chest. “Well, I’m not sure how a handful of cheap tricks will help us out, but if you ever need someone to release doves at the giant robots, maybe I can provide a distraction.”

“Don’t sell yourself short!” Shirogane adds on, her eyes sparkling. “I know- I know that you all can do anything you set your mind to! I believe in all of you, from the bottom of my heart!”

If she were a weaker woman, Kaede’s eyes might have pricked with tears, but right now all she does is nod and smile wider as her kidnappees chorus in agreement, coming together around their common goal. Even Hoshi sighs and fixes the lapels of his coat as he moves from the corner of the room to join them, muttering something about how he still has a ways to go.

Kaede turns around again, triumph like a rumbling purr in her chest, ki spreading out like sunshine. “You see, Monokuma? We’re not going to play along like you want us to!”

The bear is quiet for a moment. Then it shrugs, pacing along the edge of the stage. “Alright,” it says, casual, cheerful. “I see I won’t be able to change your young hearts with such bitter reasoning. Far be it from me to break my student’s hearts so early on!” Its voice has turned sickly sweet again, cloying and innocent. It looks just like an ordinary, if oddly-designed, teddy bear as it pauses by the edge of the curtains and looks at all of them with its unnatural smile stretched even wider, its eyes creased shut in false contentment.

“But you’ll play your parts,” it says, still with that metallic sweetness, before it slips behind the curtains and disappears.

They all stare after it, waiting for it to pop out again with some new awful rule or comment, waiting for its children to suddenly resurrect and put together their blood and joints. They watch the exisals with their open mouths and flicking tails and armor, as they slowly turn and stomp out of the gym like they never needed the monokubs to begin with. 

“Well,” Shirogane says. “That was plain unsettling.”

“I’ll say,” Hoshi echoes. 

“I can’t believe it wants us to play something like a… a killing game,” the maid says, repeating the phrase again under her breath like she can’t quite process it. She shakes her head quickly, rubbing her arms. “It’s too awful.”

“Why us, I wonder?” Shinguji tilts his head to the side, elegantly brushing back his long, silky hair. “Does our status as ultimates make us interesting prey?”

“Maybe it’s a social experiment,” Saihara murmurs, fidgeting with the buttons on his coat. He’s still lurking near the back, at the fringes of the group. Kaede motions him in encouragingly, and after a few hesitant moments, he moves over, resolutely ignoring her eyes. Even she thinks he feels out of place, with the way he’s drawing himself up like he can’t bring himself to fit in.

Angie tips her head to the side, letting out a soft coo. “Perhaps it’s a trial! A test, to force us to confront our sins!” She clasps her hands together, and her eyes practically sparkle as she bounces onto her tiptoes. “Yes, yes, of course! I can see the signs for it now. God is guiding us, ya-ha!”

“You think that god would manifest himself in a small, evil bear?” Amami asks, brow furrowed.

“My god takes many forms,” she replies, pouting a little. It would be adorable if it wasn’t also incredibly distracting from the matter of the _murder and death game._

“Guys,” Harukawa says suddenly. Several people jump- she speaks so rarely, and so lowly, but something about her voice grabs your attention. Even Kaede is a little unnerved when she lifts those eyes from the ground- red as wine, just as heady. “Have you ever heard of the ultimate hunt?”

It’s like those words send a ripple through the group- like everyone’s ki rises and falls at the same time, reaching out to it.

“It sounds… familiar…” Kiibo says hesitantly, clutching at their shirt collar. “But I can’t quite place it.”

“Me neither,” Kaede echoes, giving them a comforting smile. “Harukawa-san, does it mean something to you?”

Harukawa hesitates, then shakes her head. “It’s nothing,” she murmurs.

“But I remember it, too,” Momota insists, leaning his elbow on Kaede’s shoulder. She can’t bring herself to push it off, even if it’s a little irritating. “I mean- I remember that I. Remembered it. I think.”

Harukawa shrugs a shoulder. “We’re in the same boat, then. I was just reminded of it when Shinguji-kun spoke. It doesn’t really mean anything to me, but the phrase popped into my mind.”

It sticks in Kaede’s mind, lodges in somewhere between her folders on meditation and philosophy and her different forms of training. _Ultimate hunt._ It doesn’t sound like anything good- like they’re birds in game season. She shudders a little. 

“We can think more on it later,” Tojo says gently. “Right now, we should focus on our escape attempts- did anyone notice anything out of the way? Anything that looked like it might lead to an escape?”

“Ah-” Shirogane’s eyes light up, and she presses her pumps together as she lifts a finger, suddenly filled with eager excitement. Kaede smiles at her- there’s something mature and mysterious about the maid, something that draws you in. “I- while I was examining our facilities, I noticed a cover in the boiler room- It said it led to the sewers. But I couldn’t lift it.” She deflates a little, biting her lip, and then bounces back. “Still, I just got the sense that it was useful. You know, sewage has to go somewhere, and there’s usually a walkway underground- we’d just need a crowbar, or someone strong, or-”

“Get H1M1 to lift it up with her super-cool robot powers!” Ouma cuts in, bounding forward with his hands bunched into fists. He gives a few over-dramatic punches, grinning wildly. “Or blast it with lazers from her super-sonic eyeballs! Or-”

“Actually,” H1M1 cuts in, almost shyly, “I just have the strength of an elementary-schooler. My circuits are kind of delicate, you know.”

Ouma’s smile slides off his face like butter. “That’s even weaker than Kiibaby over there,” he says coldly, ignore Kiibo’s defensive yelp.

H1M1 shrugs a shoulder. “I’m not built for manual labour. My professor says that I’m too important for that.”

“Oh, okay, I didn’t know we were dealing with a Himi-dere,” Ouma sneers, and Kaede is about to step in when Gonta clears his throat lightly.

“Um, if it’s not a problem for friends…. Gonta is very good at lifting things,” he says, and he looks even more bashful than H1M1.

Kaede beams over at him, jumping in place. “Of course! Gonta is super strong. Do you think you get the cover off?”

Gonta looks absolutely delighted by the simple praise, and Kaede makes a note to do it more. He puffs his chest out proudly, planting his hands on his hips. “Gonta can definitely get it off!”

“Well what the fuck are we waiting for?” Iruma asks loudly. “Let’s go investigate!”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Hoshi mutters, but even he’s already moving for the exit. Momota bounds on after him, and Iruma breaks into a sprint, and suddenly the whole class is filing out, fueled with hopeful excitement. 

Saihara hangs behind, and Kaede gives him an encouraging smile, moving over to reach out to him. She’s going to offer comfort, but it seems like he has something to say- although he cuts himself off suddenly.

“Akamatsu,” someone says. Kaede glances over her shoulder to see Harukawa lingering by the doors, her expression marred with something.

“Ah, Harukawa-san.” She bounces over, glancing behind to make sure that Saihara is following. “Is everything okay?”

Harukawa glances at her, and then away. “Those were bold words,” she says, quietly. “You have a gift for bringing the group together, and a strong will.”

Kaede finds herself flushing, pressing her fingertips together. “Oh, you’re too nice. I just- I know that we’re better than this. Killing someone is. It’s wrong. It’s beneath all of us. And- and I know we’ll find a way out as long as we work together! We can’t give up!”

Harukawa’s brow furrows. “It wasn’t a compliment,” she says, flatly. “You’re making yourself a target for whoever’s running this.”

“I-” Kaede would be lying if she said she wasn’t taken aback. “I’m… I’m just trying to inspire the others. It’s part of aikido’s philosophy-”

Harukawa huffs, pulling at one of her long pigtails. The locket around her neck slides with the movement. “Just be aware about what you’re doing,” she says, fingers snagging in her dark hair. “This isn’t all fun and games. There’s real danger here.”  
Her eyes slide over to Saihara. “You shouldn’t trust anyone.”

“I-” Kaede doesn’t get anything else out, because after delivering that last piece of comforting advice, Harukawa turns on her heel and disappears, and Kaede is left staring after her. Something cold and unpleasant settles in her stomach, like mildew is taking root there.

Saihara hovers behind her, moving up to gently touch her shoulder. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get to the boiler room.”

\--

Kaede and Saihara chase the others down to the boiler room. They get there just as Gonta heaves the cover off the ground- like he’s moving a coin on the table and not _ripping a cover off its hinges._ They’re there for the ensuing celebration, too- Kaede gets hugged by a very enthusiastic Angie and her hair ruffled by an equally enthusiastic Momota. The group moves to crowd around the narrow entrance down- and are even more delighted when they are met with _steps,_ an actual ladder- one for maintenance or something- something leading down into the dark. It’s unbelievable. First try, and they find- well, at least, they’ve found something they shouldn’t have, right? After a bit of discussion, it’s decided that Kaede will go first, followed by Tojo and Momota, with Hoshi and Gonta at the back to help the others in between them. Kaede steps down until she can see the ground, and then drops and rolls along the… oddly smooth walkway. She doesn’t have to move too far through the underground before the tunnels open up to a small, open area, lit with almost blue fluorescent lighting. 

She gestures the others forward as she moves in herself, but the earlier excitement is fading a little as she looks around. 

Because yes, there is a way out. It’s an enormous pipe-tunnel stretching out into the dark. It’s advertised, too, with a helpful sign reading “WAY OUUT” in big, chunky, black script.

Kaede wouldn’t exactly say she’s full of “Street Smarts” (her hometown has a population of under two hundred) but even she would take that with a pinch of salt.

When the others catch up, it’s clear they agree.

“Well, that’s a trap if I’ve ever seen one,” Ouma announces cheerfully.

Tojo seems hesitant to agree with him on anything, but even she nods, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I must admit it is… highly suspicious that something so convenient is laid out here. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of those bears had set this up. It would explain the atrocious spelling.”

“Should we really step into such a blatant mislead?” Shinguji questions, tilting his head so the light gleams off his dark hair. “It seems like they’re almost waiting to catch us out.”

Kaede looks around the crowd, watches their slowly building anxiety, and then back to the dark pipe-tunnel. She takes a breath and then marches over to it.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, Akamatsu, what are you doing?” Momota asks, hurrying after her. She only hushes him as she hoists herself up and wanders a few meters inside. “Akamatsu-san, cmon, you can’t just-”

“I see traps ahead,” she calls back, her voice echoing through the pipe. She squints harder, taking a few more steps forward. “And light, beyond that. Do you know what that means?” Wandering back through the pipe as she speaks, Kaede returns to see a mix of worry and confusion on her companion’s faces. She meets them with a warm smile as she jumps down from the opening.  
“It means,” she explains, “that they don’t want us getting through there. That there’s something they want to hide. That there’s a way out.”

H1M1 buzzes nervously. “But… what about the sign?”

“They’re trying to psych us out,” Kaede says, pointing up triumphantly. “But it won’t work, because we’re not scared of a little danger- I mean, there’s danger even if we stay! And we’ve all got something worth fighting for, right?”

Shinguji laughs softly, folding his mummified fingers in front of him. “Oh? Pray tell, did you have something in mind, Akamatsu-san?”

She takes in a breath. “Because we’re all going to be friends when we get out of here!”  
Inhales. Exhales. Kaede is one with her breathing.  
She smiles, a little sheepishly, at the people around her. “I- I feel like going through something like this together is a bit of an intense bonding experience, but, I mean… it’d be hard _not_ to be friends with you after all of this. I mean, at least I’d want to check up on you guys and see how you’re doing, you know?”

“Kaaaaaaaaede!” Someone plummets through the crowd and throws themselves at her- Kaede stumbles a few feet back to support an overenthusiastic Angie throwing her arms around her neck. “Oh, Kaede, you are so cute! Of course we will all be friends, won’t we? I think we were _meant_ to all meet here. It’s what the universe has commanded!”

Kaede strokes her hair instinctively, then looks up to the others again. She’s met with a flushed Gonta fidgeting with his artsy tie. “Ah- Gonta has never really had friends outside of wolf family before. Gonta… would be proud to be friends with you all.”

“Aw, Gonta,” she says, still hugging Angie as tight as she can. “I’d be proud to be friends with a gentleman like you!”

Gonta’s so touched by that that he turns pink and stammers for several minutes. Momota laughs and has a valiant attempt at slinging an arm over his shoulders- but he really just gets his upper-mid back.  
“Me too,” he agrees, giving Kaede a thumbs up and a wink with his other hand. “Let’s show these bastards that we’re not to be messed with, right? And then we can go and shove our friendship in their faces!”

Saihara says nothing, but when Kaede looks over at him, his eyes are shining and creased. She beams back.

When they enter the tunnel, whooping and chattering and determined, they feel like friends. They feel like an army, in the best meaning of it- an army of hope, and of peace. They feel like comrades, and Kaede leads them forward carefully.

And then she’s blasted in the face by the fire and loses consciousness almost instantly.

She wakes up on the floor of the sewers, and her whole body aches. When she glances around, she sees the others there, too, all of them seeming to be waking up at once, nursing various bruises. Her heart catches in her throat.

“What the fuck happened?” Iruma hisses, cracking her back. “I feel like I got fucked from every angle at once.”

“How did we even get back here?” Kiibo mumbles

“We have to try again,” Kaede says immediately, scrambling to her feet. She rolls her neck, tries to fix the cramp in it. “That was a good first try- they got us by surprise. They won’t get us again.”

But she’s wrong. They get them again. And again. And again.

They try a total of sixteen times before Kaede wakes up on her back and has to take a moment to adjust to the swarming pain. 

She is bruised, and burned, and shot with something that might have been a tranquilizer. She’s fallen into vats of mysterious liquid and passed out thinking she would drown, and she’s been bludgeoned by swinging balls and attacked with gas and she’s ducked in to save a few of her peers only to watch them tumble down moments later.  
She takes a break to catch her breath, and then she springs to her feet, ignoring the way her joints whine in protest. “Okay, everyone, one more time. We’ll get it this-”

“You keep saying that,” Hoshi says gruffly, rolling out his wrists. “We won’t get it. It’s impossible.”

Kaede’s bones twinge in agreement, but she shakes her head. She lost one of her pigtails a while ago, but it could be worse. “No. We’ll get it. We can’t give up.”

“No offense, Akamatsu-” Kiibo cuts in, pushing himself onto his feet and immediately looking like he might vomit, “but right now, it’s looking like we might die in a killing game or we might die in the sewers, and I think I would prefer my chances in the killing game right now.” He must see something in her face, because his face softens a little. “Sorry. Maybe we can try again later.”

“Fuck no, I am not trying that again,” Iruma hisses. “Are you crazy? I could have _died-_ do you see what happened to my boots?”

“My SP is almost entirely drained,” H1M1 whines, rubbing at her eyes. Kaede wonders briefly at how a robot can feel tired, but then she remembers H1M1 runs on battery power. Does physical exertion increase the drain?

“Guys,” she tries again, something like panic fluttering in her chest. “We can’t give up now. I know we can do it. Just one more try, and I promise-”

“Do you want us to die?”  
She startles at the accusation- looks over to see Ouma sprawled on the floor, looking near tears as he struggles to pull together the rips in his sweater. His bottom lip wobbles as he stares up at her. “You’re killing us, Akamatsu! Maybe this is all your plan to get us to die so you win that horrible killing game!” He sniffles, eyes beginning to pool with tears, and all she can do is stare in horror.

 _“No!_ No, I would never- I don’t want any of you hurt! I just want us to get out of here!”

“But you _are_ hurting us,” he says, his voice dipping into something a little different, the tears drying up. “Look around you. Is this how you treat your friends, Akamatsu-chan?”

She does look around, at that. She sees H1M1 cradling her already broken wrist, Chabashira kneeling over her and frantically asking about her power levels despite the scrapes covering her own, human skin. Shinguji is unwrapping and rewrapping his bandages, flexing his fingers through the air delicately like he’s terrified they’ll suddenly stop working. Even Gonta- strong, sturdy, unstoppable Gonta, is nursing his own wounds- but when she looks over, he puts on a brave smile like he’s just fine. 

Kaede’s mouth goes dry. 

“This is all Akamatsu-chan’s fault!” Ouma sniffs, and the tears are back again. “I think she _likes_ seeing us hurt.”

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Iruma snaps at her.

“I- no, guys, it’s not-” Kaede lifts her hands up defensively, her heart thudding at her chest. How did she screw up this badly? How did she end up getting people hurt, they were meant- “Look, I’ll go on ahead, I’ll check it out on my own-” but it’s not good unless they all get out together, she can’t _abandon_ them.

Suddenly, Momota steps up, dropping the hand from his cheekbone and revealing a nasty cut. “Hey!” He says, pushing his fists together aggressively. “Why are you all ganging up on Akamatsu-san?”

“She’s the one who kept pushing and pushing until we got hurt,” Ouma says- sly, now, finger pressed to his lips like a fox bride. If Kaede looked closely, she might see tails curling around him. “Who else’s fault could it be?”

“You all agreed,” Momota says hotly, dropping his hands, tennis jacket flapping behind him. “We all want to get out of here!”

“Not if it involves my death, Momota-san,” Tojo says gently. 

“I-” He looks around, hopelessly. “Guys, come on-”

“It’s okay,” Kaede whispers. She can feel Momota turn to her even when she closes her eyes. She can feel all of them looking at her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I was pushing you so hard, I just- I just really wanted to escape with everyone.” It feels so childish coming out of her own mouth. She bites her own lip, hard, because crying…. Her mother always said that it was good to let your emotions out, but right now it feels like it would be selfish.

“Maybe we can try again later,” Kiibo says again, a little weaker.

“You’ve got a ways to go, kid,” Hoshi mutters, and Kaede squeezes her eyes shut tighter. “We’re not making it out of here. Not through that way, at least.”

“They did this on purpose,” Shirogane whispers. “They wanted to get our hopes up before they crushed them.”

Kaede can’t bring herself to argue. One by one, the others all file out, walking back to the boiler room and groaning as they pull themselves up the ladder. Momota remains behind, looking torn between comforting her and giving her space.

“It’s not right,” he says after a while. “You were just trying to help.”

“I shouldn’t have pushed them so hard,” Kaede murmurs, closing her eyes. She can hear Momota click his tongue, the shift of his jacket.

“Yeah, well. They don’t need to be shitty about it,” he says. She can practically feel his hesitation- but eventually he claps her on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t be so down. I’m sure they’ll all be back to normal after a good rest, alright?”

She nods. His hand lingers there for a moment before he leaves.

Kaede is this close to just breaking down right there, but Saihara- sweet, patient, Saihara- gently steps over and clears his throat. He’s so quiet that she hadn’t realized he was still there, although it’s probably the only reason Momota felt okay about leaving her. 

“Let’s get back to the dorms,” is all he says, and Kaede nods.

They go to the dorms- she finds the door with her name and face printed on it, unlocks it, and steps in carefully.

It’s cold, and grey, and monotone. It’s nothing like her room at home. It feels like the very soul has been sucked out of it.

Kaede falls onto the bed and cries herself to sleep.

\--

It’s late evening. Most people have retired to bed by now, they’re sure. 

Kiibo’s outside, though, looking up at the sky. The constellations don’t quite match up with what he knows should be there- cancer next to the big dipper next to orion next to delphinus. Like someone just plucked their favourites out of the sky and rearranged them; all aesthetics and no care for the laws of reality. The densely-packed stars look pretty, but even with his naked eye, Kiibo can judge that they’re too bright, their orbits too close. This is a sky with a gravity that could not hold itself up.

They think of everyone trying their best to escape- of Akamatsu’s bright eyes, violet gemini, Shirogane’s quiet comfort, the way she lingers by their side like she’s thinking of them, the way Tojo had guided everyone back to the school when they were beaten down and weary. 

They lean back into the grass and plant their hands behind them, staring at the sky.

Time passes- they can’t say how much, but they watch the false moon sink over the sky- they can track it, even in this sky full of galaxies that don’t make sense.

Rustling behind them. Footsteps. Kiibo turns and makes contact with a pair of red eyes, like drops of blood in the night. Half-consciously, they marvel at the lighting outside the school that allows them to see the color even in the dark. There are fluorescent lights hidden in the flowers- they think. It’s an elegant design for a school.

“Harukawa-san,” they say, stupidly.

She stares back, halfway through taking another step. Slowly, she sets her foot down. She moves over.  
“Hey,” she says, looking away.

Kiibo’s not sure what to say to that. They look back at the sky. “Do you want to watch the stars with me?”

“We don’t have time for things like that,” Harukawa says.

They blink. “Aren’t you going to go to sleep if you don’t?” They don’t ask where she was coming from. 

Harukawa’s eyes move to them slowly, like she’s trying to assess something she can’t quite see. When she speaks, her voice comes out a little stiffly. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you?”

Kiibo shakes their head. “I’ve thought about that,” they explain. “And I decided I’d rather not spend all my time worrying about if you guys turn against me.” Absentmindedly, they pull at the grass beside them, watching the stars spin. “I don’t know. I want to have hope, I guess. I- I refuse to drown in my own fear. If that means putting myself in danger, that’s okay.” When they look back to Harukawa, she’s staring straight ahead at the school stretching around them, her hands fisted in her loose shirt. “And Akamatsu-san… I think she’s right, in a way. We can’t just give up.”

“You talk like an idiot,” Harukawa says stiffly, but she moves over to sit by them, one long leg stretching over the grass, the other knee sticking up as she leans back on her hands. “You’ll get yourself killed, talking like that. Or believing it. People are quick to bend to their own fear.”

“Well, you haven’t killed me yet, right?” They point out, and are rewarded with another glance away. Kiibo smiles to themself, mimicking her by leaning back on their hands. 

Harukawa, who doesn’t remember her talent, with the dark aura and the quiet words and the references to things they don’t quite remember. (Ultimate hunt… Why does it feel like it should mean something?)  
Harukawa, with dark pigtails and red eyes and her loose cargo pants full of pockets that could be hiding anything. If Kiibo said they weren’t afraid of her at least a little bit, it would be a lie.  
But fear shouldn’t hold you back. They think of astronauts going up in spaceships held together with nothing but hope, looking at missions into an uncharted place, into almost certain death. They smile.

“Harukawa-san, I noticed that you linger behind a lot. Are you feeling anxious about our circumstances?”

She twitches a little, her brow furrowing, and then shakes her head. “I don’t get anxious. I’m just guarded. There’s a lot we don’t know, and it’s not good to underestimate your enemies.”

“But it’s not good to underestimate your allies, either.” Kiibo draws their knees to their chest, angling a little to face her properly. “I really think we can get through this together, you know.” 

“Hm.” She crosses an arm over her knee, still leaning back on the grass, and flicks her eyes down to meet theirs. Nothing about her face looks- warmer, or softer, or like she’s suddenly opened up to their opinion. “I wonder how long you’ll believe that.”

Kiibo laughs, softly, clearing their throat. “Right to the end of the line,” they promise her. “What’s the point of living in fear? I want to believe in us.”

“You’ll die afraid,” she replies, blankly. “You say that now, but if someone crept up behind you and slit your throat, you would die in fear. Is that worth it to you?”

They consider the question before they nod. “I think so. Because… it’s more helpful for the others if I’m positive while I’m alive.” They tilt their head and press their fingertips together, looking at Harukawa a little nervously. “Why? Are you planning to kill me?”

Kiibo feels like the answer to that should be “of course not!” Instead, they get several long moments of silence before Harukawa shakes her head.

“I’m not looking to kill anyone,” she murmurs. “Not to escape, either.”

“You don’t want to escape?”

Her mouth twitches to the side, lips pursed. “It’s… complicated. All I know is that it isn’t worth it. Killing someone, I mean.”

“Of course not!” Kiibo sits up a little straighter, frowning. “An escape like that would be dishonorable!”

Harukawa looks at them for a long moment before she shifts her gaze again, a hand coming up to tuck her bangs back. “Right.”

They drop back into silence after that. Kiibo stares at the sky again, watching the moon sink down. Harukawa pulls at the grass and at her pigtails, slowly growing more twitchy and restless. They try not to say anything about it, but they wonder what the problem is- is she nervous? Tired? Angry? Did they offend her? Is she just restless?

“The constellations are pretty,” they say, after a while.

Harukawa grunts, then pushes herself to her feet. She flicks grass off the top of her pants, then looks down at them. “Kiibo,” she says, firmly. 

“Y-yes?” They stammer, quickly pushing themself up, too- not quite as elegant as her. They almost tip over again.

Harukawa glances over her shoulder at the school, and then turns around, barely looking over her shoulder. “Come on. I’ll take you back.”

“Okay,” they say, and that’s all they get out before she’s storming forward, leaving them no choice but to follow. 

\--

It’s funny, how quickly a well-written character can upset a neat plot.

Akamatsu is persuasive. Very persuasive- You don’t think they’ve ever seen a protagonist with quite so much mettle. She stands out from past seasons- and it’s not just the fact her outfit is a little more colorful than traditional protags, or that she’s an elusive girl, or the fact her talent is something a little out of the ordinary. It’s not even the way you watched the write her- positive, protective, never-dying faith in her friends. It’s not the details you got to add in, either- a firm sense of self, a whole philosophy, fondness for the outdoors. There’s a bright spark to her, something you’re sure she’d call _ki._

She’s powerful. In showbiz, you learn to recognize charisma. You guess that the people running the auditions saw it in the girl with the dull blonde hair and the gaze that slid sideways as she popped cherry bubblegum mid-monologue. You weren’t there to stand in for everyone else’s auditions, obviously, you were busy running through your own lines, heart in your throat. But you’ve watched the tapes back.

On one hand, it’s good that Akamatsu has such a draw to her. You feel it too, when you’re in character- she’s as endearing as she is trustable. Flawed, too- despite all that meditation, she has a temper to her. Naive, maybe because she was raised so remotely. Or maybe just because you thought it would be a cute trait to give her. At a certain point, character design just involves throwing in any old trait that can be vaguely justifiable. Akamatsu was lonely despite being conventionally pretty and kind and tough? Sure. It’s plausible. She was just too good at aikido.

...Anyway, the point is that it’s good. The ratings reflect the audience’s interest in her- they’re pulling in more views already than they have for the past _ten_ seasons. That’s good, but it’s not enough. Interest in Danganronpa is already international, inescapable, spreading like a fever (like despair, maybe?) but even the rush that only it can provide is dampened by repetitive writing. People don’t want yet another third trial with a predictable villain and a fourth trial that kills off the gentle giant and a fifth trial where someone sacrifices themself and a sixth- well, the sixth trials are always the highlights, right? You’d be lying if you said you weren’t terrified of that moment, fast encroaching.

_Because oh god, it’s happening, you’re really in it now. Day one over. Day two starting soon. You need to check ratings again and call the director and squeeze in four hours of sleep and get up and play innocent and the whole time your veins will be buzzing like you slammed six energy drinks while you worked at your plan for the season, only worse and better and your stomach is rolling and you’re so ready. You are so ready. You think about that final trial and you press your fingers against the smile stretching over your face and you feel like the fucking psycho that every good mastermind is said to be._

Fear, excitement- it’s all the same. You sling your arms over the back of your chair as you stare up at the monitors, watching Kiibo and Harukawa move through the gardens. Kiibo, Harukawa…. Right. Akamatsu.

It’s good. She’s engaging. You like engaging. You need engaging. But it’s also bad, because… a unified group of friends is not exactly the best environment for murder. 

...That doesn’t mean it’s bad, though. You’ve seen many a horror movie. The scariest ones, the best ones, are the ones where the cast fall apart and turn on each other, a slow creep into insanity.

You don’t know if you can really sit through that slow of a creep- or if the audience will, either. But you’ll give them a few days, you think. 

And then you’ll watch as they tear each other apart.

\--

Kaede wakes up with an _awful_ headache. She hasn’t cried like that in years. What reason would she have to cry so hard and so long? She's never feared for her life before. She's never feared for other people's. When she wakes up, for a few, awful, shameful minutes, all she wants to do is hide away.

But it’s not as bad as she expected. When she enters the dining room and gives the others a hesitant smile, she gets smiles back, despite how tired everyone looks. Amami invites her to come sit by him, and Saihara sticks right by her side, and Tojo gently asks how she slept and if she has any further plans for the day.  
By the time Shirogane comes out with breakfast, she’s chatting happily with a small group of people- and then the maid is giving them all the most adorable curtsy as she serves a mix of national dishes- crepes and rice and fish and fruit. They all drink tea and chat and Momota pats her back and tells her she did good.

And then Monokuma comes out and informs them their talent labs are open. It’s about the most pleasant interaction Kaede ever has with him- he’s popping up to hand out unhelpful advice for the rest of the day, and for the days following, but when he delivers the news, it’s thankfully brief. He nags them all about getting out there and murdering already, but he’s largely ignored. 

Three labs are open- the ultimate pianist’s, the ultimate inventor’s, and the ultimate aikido master’s.

While Shinguji is cradling his own face and going into some horny fugue state over the very existence of a piano in proximity to him, and Chabashira is squealing loud enough to shatter their glasses about how she can really fix H1M1’s hand now, Monokuma turns to Kaede and winks with its one good eye. 

“We had to pull a couple strings to get yours ready so fast,” he informs her, before walking around the corner of the table and disappearing into thin air. Something about the way he said it makes her uneasy- which is why she drags Saihara with her the first time she goes to inspect the lab.

It’s right in the center of the courtyard, next to the pretty-but-creepy shrine. She’s not sure what she’s expecting. Rows of spiked dummies, prisoners to torture chained to the walls, blood dripping from the rafters- _concrete floors._

But when she pushes open the sliding doors and steps inside, her gasp is one of delight.

“Oh- Oh- Saihara-kun, oh!” She skips a few steps forward, then twirls, laughing. “Oh my goodness, it’s just like home?” Kaede inhales sharply, closing her eyes. “Oh, it smells like home, too.”

“You don’t find that disturbing?” Saihara questions, hesitating before he steps inside- as if he’s unsure what to do about his clunky boots on the soft flooring. Kaede waves him in anyway.

The dojo is made with soft floors, tatami mats stretched open over them. Each wall is actually made up of sliding doors that open to let the sunlight in the dome in. Herbs hang from swinging pots, flowers are planted around the outside- the wooden rafters gleam with neat polish. A series of spinning dummies are suspended throughout the room- along with sacks to tussle with, weights and sparring weapons, and what looks like an obstacle course she could set up to tumble through. Kaede spots mats made for meditating, _The Art of Peace_ resting by a water cooler. It looks like any one of the smaller training rooms at home- all it’s missing is the maple trees outside, the long grass around their orchard, the clean air that comes from living above the sea. 

And her mother. Kaede’s spent her whole life missing her someone- it’s that awful thing when you’re adopted, isn’t it? How you can’t help wondering if the grass might be greener somewhere else. Especially when you know there’s a sister out there still with your birth parents. But right now, she’s overcome with a pang of homesickness so strong that it almost knocks her off her feet. She misses her mom- her mentor. The person who raised her. She still misses her sister, too, and the family she hasn’t met in years, but-

“Akamatsu-san.” Saihara slowly pads over the mats, his boots sinking into them. He stops in front of her, hesitates, and then fumbles in his pockets. “You’re- ah, I don’t have a handkerchief. Are you okay??”

Kaede blinks, then sniffs. When she reaches up to wipe her eyes, her hands come back wet. “Ah- I’m so sorry!” She laughs despite herself, hurriedly trying to clean her cheeks without smearing her mascara. “I just- I suddenly realized how much I missed my mom. She’s probably worried sick, hah…” Kaede trails off, shaking her head. Her mom is probably tearing up the town right now, dragging together a mob to come and find her. “Do you have anyone you miss, Saihara-kun?” If she wipes her nose on her sleeve, she doesn’t think he’ll tell.

Saihara looks genuinely startled by the question, rocking back on his heels. “I… I guess. I, um. I’ve lived with my uncle for a while, so…” He trails off, suddenly going very quiet. “Yeah. I miss him a lot.”

“I’m sorry,” Kaede says again, dropping her sleeve. She almost reaches out for him before she thinks better of it. “We’ll get back to them soon, right?” God, she didn’t mean to bring his mood down. Hurriedly, Kaede moves back and gives a few high kicks- a jump and a spin, too, just for show. When she’s finished, she beams over at Saihara, channeling her ki out into her breath. “I’m feeling more energized already! They made a big mistake, giving me a place to train!”

Saihara’s mask quirks a little. She can imagine it- him, smiling lopsidedly underneath. “I’m sure they did, Akamatsu-san.”

\--

A few more days pass. They fall into a sense of something like normalcy. They eat together. They go their separate ways. The come together again. They sleep. They don’t find any sign of escape. Kaede tries to pester Hoshi into investigating- but it’s a good day if he’s doing anything more than smoking and staring into the distance, and the last time she pushed him too hard, he threatened to cut off all her fingers. It’s- things aren’t changing, and change is good, it’s a fundament of life, but they’re not getting worse at least?

You know, until they are.

Monokuma is standing in the center of their dining table- as he is want to do every few mornings, when he really feels they need a nudge in the right(wrong) direction.

“You know what the problem is?” He’s telling an increasingly agitated Harukawa. “I’ve been mulling it over, and this- this is the perfect setting for murder! Great ambience, great budding tension, just the right amount of fourth wall breaking for it to be fun and unsettling but not overdone, right?”

“Everything about this is overdone,” Iruma grumbles, trailing her fork through her hash brown.

“What’s the perfect ingredient missing from any murder mystery?” Monokuma continues like he never even heard her. “We’ve got ourselves a five-star cast, a perfectly creepy background, just the right elements of mystery- what could be missing?”

“A much cooler set of weapons,” Ouma pouts. “C’mon, open up my lab already. Cowards. You know it would make it more fun if we all had glocks.”

 _“Motive,”_ Monokuma finishes, and if it weren’t an unfeeling robot with no muscle to speak of, Kaede would swear its left eye was twitching. (Then again, this _is_ Monokuma. Who knows what its body can do.)

“None of us have any motive to kill anyone,” Kaede says firmly.

Its red eye flashes. “Then how’s this? The first person to commit murder of any kind will be allowed to go free- no trial. You kill someone, you graduate! Easy as pie!”

Kaede glances around the table. No one seems particularly eager to jump at the chance. 

Smiling sweetly as she tears a bun in half, Angie hums. “An eternity in the darkness of hell for a chance at mortal sins? No~ thank~ you!”

“No trial just takes all the fun out of it,” Ouma grumbles, flicking a pea off the end of the spoon over at Kiibo’s head, who yelps like a particularly affronted dog.

Monokuma glances around them. “Nobody biting, huh?”

“Obviously not,” Harukawa snaps.

“Then how about this?” Monokuma offers, its tone dangerously even. “If a murder isn’t committed within three nights from now, I will release a swarm of Monokuma-bots to come and slaughter every last one of you.”

The room goes silent. 

Another pea hits Kiibo in the face.

“You can’t be serious,” Amami says, gripping at the table.

“As the grave,” Monokuma chirps.

“That’s- three days or- oh, no…” Shirogane murmurs, her pretty face going dramatically pale.

“You- you can’t _do_ that,” Kaede protests, standing up so rapidly her seat clatters to the ground behind her. 

Monokuma trots down the table until he meets her, and then leans down until their noses are almost touching. Kaede bares her teeth.  
“Oh yes I can, _Kaede_ ,” he says.

Immediately, Momota is storming over, shrugging off his jacket like he’s preparing for a fight. “Who fucking said you could use her first name?” He grits out. Kaede holds a hand by his shoulder, holding him back.

“Hey, the localization left us all kinda fucked up,” Monokuma shrugs. “Anyway, murder. Three days. Orrrrr-”

“I’ve had enough of you!” Momota snarls, lunging forward. Kaede lunges after him, catching his arms and twisting them along with his motions until she has them pinned to his hip.

“Momota-kun, the rules!” She shouts, pressing his side into the table. He freezes against her.

They’ve all read the rules. Studied them again and again, for a multitude of reasons. For one, there’s the rules about murder and class trials and… all of that, the rules that disturb them too much to look at alone, that you need an ally with you to point out potential flaws and laugh at and joke about how murder could never work out like Monokuma thinks it would. For another… there’s the rules about their “normal” school life. The ones that will have the exisals gunning you down if you so much as think about disobeying.

_No harm must come to the headmaster._

Momota, pinned between Kaede and the table, fights a little, as if just on instinct, and then sags against her. “Goddammit,” he mutters.

The room is defeated.

Then, quite calmly, Tojo heaves up the robot and throws it directly across the room with the force of a woman fighting for her life.

Monokuma shrieks as he flies, all the way over until he meets with the sharp angle of a corner into the kitchen and explodes into a violent splatter of a pink liquid that smells, somehow, _exactly_ like blood- and concerningly, a violent expulsion of bits of metal and shrapnel. It is terrifying when it happens, coating the room in fake blood and violent metal- and yet, when it’s over, there is laughter and relief and everyone is praising Tojo’s arm. 

Monokuma doesn’t rebuild itself. They spend a day hesitant in their success. Kaede and Momota return the sewers and make no further success in the tunnel. Still, there’s an uneasy peace. They meet for dinner that evening thinking that they’ve won.  
Monokuma rolls out of the kitchen with a dish on his hand like an a world class waiter.

Immediately, Momota throws a plate at him that narrowly misses, shattering on the nearby wall.

There’s yelling. There’s screaming. Monokuma calls in the resurrected monokubs and kills them again, each one exploding into a dangerous splatter that smells like hot blood. 

“No matter how many times you kill me, I’ll come back,” it crows. “And the next person to lay a hand on me _won’t_ get off with a warning.”

It leaves them to their meal after reminding them of the time limit- still three nights from now.

It all feels so- so hopeless. She cries herself to sleep again. She wakes up with a headache again. Breakfast is quiet. They agree to keep the peace, but- just three days. Even when the others head off laughing, Kaede can’t quite join them.

Then Saihara says “Akamatsu-san, I- I have something to tell you,” and he takes her to the library and shows her the door and everything gets so _real._

Saihara tells her she’s the only one he trusts, and she- she can’t blame him, because the very thought that _one of them_ is behind this, is- beyond terrifying. Can’t-breathe-for-a-moment terrifying. Kaede’s mind rolls over every single one of her friends, and she just- she twists her hands up and has to shake the thought from her head.

“So what now?” she asks.

And Saihara shows her the dust he’s collected from the tops of books here, and he lets her watch as he scatters it over the keycard holder. 

“So, if someone uses this today- we’ll know that one of us is working with Monokuma,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically sturdy.

Kaede stares at him as he gently arranges the dust, as he slides the bookcase shut and ushers them sideways and pretends he’s recommending her books. “How did you even notice that?” She asks. 

Saihara flushes. “Ah- I’ve been spending a lot of time down here,” he mumbles. “My talent lab isn’t open yet, but this is sort of the next best thing. A-and I noticed that one of the books was out of line, and, well, secret doors in bookcases is such a common trope in fiction that I just sort of…. Played with it until it shifted.” He tugs at his mask, pulling it up to the bridge of his nose as if to cover the blush further. “It’s not really that clever at all… It took me, um, a couple days to even notice.”

“Still!” Kaede leans back, staring at the case. It slots into the wall so neatly that she never would have noticed. “Wow. A secret door in a bookcase!”

“Are you… excited?”

She gives him a guilty smile. “Is that bad? I at least feel like we have a plan now.”

Saihara traces his foot against the dust in the carpet, busying himself by collecting books. “It’s not much of a plan,” he mumbles. “I’ll… I’ll think of something to do. Once we know.”

“I believe in you!” Kaede says enthusiastically, pumping her fists. “You’re really smart, Saihara- with your brains and my brawn, we can do anything!”

“Ahah, yeah…” Saihara clears his throat. Geez, he’s so awkward. “Anyway, um, we should probably get out of here. And… we should probably split up for a while, so it isn’t suspicious.” He pauses for a moment, then gives her a little nod. “I hope you enjoy those books, Akamatsu-san. I picked them for you specially.”

She smiles back. “I’ll have to find some for you next time, okay?”

“Maybe when we escape,” he says softly, before he picks up his stack of books and heads out. He only glances back once.

\--

After she leaves Saihara, Kaede is struck by the realization that she really doesn’t have anything to _do_ except wait around. She heads out to her talent lab again, and takes a breath in the dojo. It’s beautiful as it was the first time she stepped in. It’s perfect. It reminds her of home.

She could practice, but… It feels wrong to do it here. It looks like home, feels like home, smells like the mountains- but it’s not. Besides, there’s a part of her, creeping with suspicion, that can’t forget what Saihara said. She doesn’t want someone studying her… or worse, thinking she was going to attack them. She’s not sure how well she could meditate here.

A better course of action is probably to go and hang out with the others, right? That way, she can see if any of them are behaving in a sinister manner, if there’s anything that gives any of them away. 

But everyone seems to have settled into an odd sense of normalcy- she speaks casually to Amami as he looks around their confinement, pries another trick out of him with a bit of pleading- he produces a flower from behind her ear and then tucks it into her hair and tells her she looks lovely. When she asks if he’s flirting, a little flustered, he just smiles and says he’d prefer to see her comforted- that she’s nicer when she isn’t carrying a burden on her shoulders.

Chabashira is as pleasant and enthusiastic as ever when Kaede stops by, asking if Saihara has done anything sketchy with narrowed eyes. She’s watching H1M1, eyes alight as the robot opens up her left wrist to show the damaged circuitry there. Kaede would kind of like to spend time with them, but Chabashira seems hard at work trying to repair H1M1’s hand, and although H1M1 is as simultaneously shy and haughty ever, Kaede feels a little bad about peering at all her wires- like it’s maybe something she shouldn’t see. When she leaves them behind, she can hear H1M1 laughing, snorting to herself as Chabashira stammers about something. 

Hoshi is off-puttingly cold as usual, telling her to back off as soon as she steps near, but after she hovers around him for a while, he’s open enough to explain what he’s doing- looking around the classroom monitors to see if any of them open into something with more information. He’s gruff and starts smoking halfway through their conversation, which is when Kaede decides to leave, but there’s something achingly sad about him at the same time. Kaede just has the sense that he needs someone to be there for him- but maybe not while he’s investigating.

Gonta makes her giggle, offering to lift her up, and she spends a pleasant few minutes sketching with him. Her doodles come out childish compared to his- well, masterworks, really. He is an absolute delight to be around, talking softly about how he gets the colors bold, what plants make the best dye- there’s some iris in the garden that he could use to make a perfect purple. Kaede tells him about her home, bordered by forest, and excitedly they make plans to explore it, take a trip out to the shrines when they all get out. When Gonta swears to keep them safe, she can’t help but believe him- even if she laughs only moments later as he struggles to fit into one of the tiny desk-chairs.

She has tea with Tojo at midday, the politician insisting in pouring for them both in some sort of mini tea-ceremony. They eat mochi, and tiny chocolate pastries, and they talk about keeping the group unified. Tojo bows her head gently and smiles and compliments Kaede on her skill for encouraging people. Kaede can’t help but return the compliment- Tojo is so sweet and so devoted that it’s hard to think of her as anything but a good friend. Kaede supposes that makes her the best kind of leader, and she makes a promise to herself to vote for her as soon as she’s able.

She sees Angie chattering off Shirogane’s ear as the maid hangs laundry on the porch outside the dining hall. They make eye contact, and Shirogane smiles at her, completely ignoring Angie’s babbling to give Kaede a warm look. Kaede diverts her course and heads over to chat with them for a while. Angie, as usual, is cheerful and friendly and only a little disconcerting with the way she keeps directing the conversation to her religion. Shirogane, on the other hand, is mostly quiet, watching them like they’re a particularly interesting show. She laughs softly when Kaede splutters in defense of Buddhism, and then quietly steps in to ask if she needs anything- if there’s any washing she needs done, any alterations to her clothes, any food requests. Kaede waves her off and she just nods and looks down, her eyes soft. “Anything for you all,” she says quietly, and Kaede is equal parts touched and concerned.

By the time she makes it to the dorms, it’s late in the afternoon and they’re meeting for dinner in a few hours. She finds Iruma there, sitting on the steps and filing her nails. The cosplayer doesn’t look up.

Kaede hesitates a moment. Iruma is…. Cranky. And rude. And difficult to deal with. But she’s hung out with a bunch of other people today; why not add one more to the list?

Kaede moves over to stand by her, bending down slightly so they’re eye level. “Um, Iruma-san? Do you want to hang out?”

Their introduction didn’t really get off on the best foot, but Iruma is certainly interesting, and Kaede can’t deny that a part of her is a little dazzled by her and her fantastic clothes. She’s a kid from the mountains at heart- small town, small dojo… not many friends her own age. Iruma, in her pink seifuku and her steampunk charms, is as intimidating as she is, just- _cool._ Even the mouth on her is kind of cool, even when it’s lifting in a sneer like it is now.

“You think some fucking tit-neanderthal can talk to me?” Iruma rolls her eyes, gesturing with the nail file. “Learn to dress yourself and catch up to modern culture and then we’ll see!”

...Okay, so sometimes she’s awful, too.

Still, Kaede finds herself sitting down, swinging her legs out and then folding them up. She looks over at Iruma inquisitively- somehow, she’s drawn to do what she says. Maybe it’s her cool clothes. Maybe it’s her confidence. Maybe she’s being a bit cheeky. Maybe she has abhorrent taste in women.  
It’s not all bad, sitting quietly by Iruma. Kaede meditates regularly- comes with the territory, she supposes. She keeps still, too, because she’s sure the cosplayer will have something to say about it if she shifts too much, and surprisingly, Iruma is still and quiet too. When she isn’t speaking, it feels almost like there’s a mutual respect between them. Kaede is pleased, a little bit. Even if Iruma is unpleasant company most of the time, she’d like to get along as well as they can. She’d like to get to know all her companions as well as possible during their unfortunate time together. 

Iruma speaks up after a while, turning her head sideways. Her hair curls around her, medusa-like. “So, shit-for-brains, what did you want?”

Kaede blinks. “Um, I don’t know? To hang out with you?”

Iruma narrows her eyes, leaning in until she’s completely infiltrated Kaede’s personal bubble. Kaede leans back, a little flustered. “Well, what did you have to say? Were you gonna lecture me with your bad anime opinions? You think a fuckin’ normie like you can speak to me?”

Kaede’s not sure what a normie is, but she’s sure if she admitted that, she’d just be proving Iruma’s point. “Iruma-san, I have good taste in anime. But I’d be interested in hearing your opinions on it?”

Iruma tosses her hair, slapping Kaede in the face with the coiled ends of her curls as she leans back. “Tch. Someone who dresses as poorly as you wouldn’t be able to understand the genius of my FMA fan theories.”

 _Keep calm, Akamatsu. You were the one who decided to spend time with her._ Kaede inhales slowly, then gives Iruma a soft smile. “Is that your favourite anime, then? I don’t think I’ve seen it.” 

“I’m not going to talk about my precious anime with someone with her tits hanging out of her fuckin’ dojo robes!” Iruma spat, drawing herself up. 

Kaede feels her temper flaring again- her _mother_ made these clothes. By hand. “It’s my uniform,” she says stiffly. 

“You wear that to high school?” Iruma asks, giving her a very clearly disapproving once-over. “Yikes. You must get bullied pretty bad, Bakamatsu.”

“I-” Kaede bites her lip, feathers officially ruffled. She’s not _bullied._ But she was homeschooled until the ultimate initiative scouted her- part of the requirement is that you need to be attending a high school. So, Kaede started a little late, and she never quite… fit in. Aikido-freak. Traditional type. Even in small mountain towns, she was a little too out of touch. “I’m proud of it,” she decides, reaching up to fix her collar a little. “It’s made with good fabric and the colors suit me.”

Iruma rolls her eyes. “It’s tacky character design. The designs on your skirt are cute but they make your shirt look boring as hell. And your fucking sandals…. I know they’re geta but god they look so dumb with your shitty little socks. Isn’t it better to fight in boots? Then you could stomp everyone’s toes!” She cackles wildly, dropping one of her heavily-laced boots onto the floor with a heavy thud to prove her point.

Kaede crosses her arms over her chest. “Aikido practitioners don’t hurt our opponents,” she says stiffly. “We’re pacifists. It’s part of our ideology.”

“Eh?” Iruma leans back to stare at her, tilting her head. “Pretty fucking stupid ideology. Doesn’t that make you weaker than someone who’s willing to hurt you?”

Kaede thinks back to the killing game and shudders, curling up her hands. “No. It doesn’t. It makes me stronger than them.” Iruma doesn’t look like she’s getting it, so she goes into more detail. “[ _True victory does not come from defeating an enemy, true victory comes from giving love and changing an enemies heart_ ](https://www.azquotes.com/quote/1379078) _-_ Morihei Ueshiba.” Kaede draws her hands in front of her to gesture, her eyes creasing as she thinks of her mother repeating their philosophy in the garden outside their dojo. “There isn’t any victory in hurting people or punishing them. The only real victory is keeping people safe- giving them love, changing their hearts. And being friends! That’s what makes this killing game so stupid- as if anyone who killed and graduated would feel anything but heaviness.” She twists her hands up again, scowling at the ground. “It’s despicable. Killing is a weight on your soul- don’t you feel bad when you hurt people?” She glances back up to her companion.

Iruma stutters and glances away, seeming a little unsettled. “I- I guess. I mean, I’m not gonna kill someone! I’m innocent! Don’t look at me like that!”

“I wasn’t looking at you like anything!” Kaede feels frustration pool in her throat again. “Ugh, don’t get so defensive. I’m just saying.” 

They go quiet again for a while.

“Who’s that Ueshiba guy, anyway?”

Kaede glances over to her again. “Morihei Ueshiba. He’s kind of the father of aikido. He wrote _The Art of Peace._ ” She finds herself smiling again, ducking her head down. “I kinda feel like he’s a father to me, too. It was just me and my mom growing up, so-” 

“Hey, daddy issues club!” Iruma cackles again, and Kaede finds herself giggling too, almost out of shock.

“Iruma-san! I don’t have- _daddy_ issues.”

“If you’re projecting onto some dude from a billion years ago, you have daddy issues,” Iruma says, shrugging a shoulder. Kaede mutters a few words of dissent. “I mean,” she continues. “I’m basically imagining you growing up in some weird cult now. You and your mommy and like, twenty old women, no men around, and every night they get together to meditate naked and-”

“Iruma!” Kaede’s fingers twitch to pin the cosplayer’s arm behind her back. “Don’t say things like that! My mother trains _children._ ”

Iruma snaps out of whatever drooling haze she was stuck in and plants her hands on her hips. “Wow, I didn’t know Bakamatsu was trained with babies.”

“She was a renowned master before she retired from competing,” Kaede grits out. “She could still have you flipped over her shoulder in seconds.”

“Ooh, kinky,” Iruma says, and before Kaede can yell at her for that, she says: “so she _would_ fight me?”

Kaede bristles. “She’d put you in your place,” she says stiffly. “If you said anything like that to my mama, she would flip you- but she wouldn’t hurt you.” Kaede’s mother thinks that everyone needs to be flipped once to learn what it feels like to be knocked off your feet, and how to recover from it. Kaede agrees, but for a different reason.

“What’s the point of all those ugly muscles if you’re not beating someone up?”

“My muscles are both healthier and better looking than your- flabby tight arms!” She hisses, puffing her chest out a little. She’s been insulted for her appearance more than once after or before a match- it’s not uncommon for people to try and get under your skin in competitions. It’s underhanded, though. Against the spirit of Aikido.  
...That doesn’t mean that Kaede doesn’t gloat a little when she beats them with perfect form and having never hurt them once. 

“They are?” Surprisingly, Iruma doesn’t respond to the insult other than leaning forward, one hand grabbing Kaede’s wrist and the other pushing up her sleeve. “Okay, then, lemme feel-”

“Hey, what are you-” Kaede tugs at her wrist once, but Iruma seems determined to feel up her bicep. 

She cackles, squeezing around Kaede’s arm. “Hey, what do you know- I think these might be bigger than your actual ti-”

Kaede, still seated, slides her left foot sideways to meet the tips of Iruma’s feet, and grabs her hands at the same time. Slipping off the seat and bending her knee, her other arm slides down to balance against the flat of Iruma’s abdomen, supporting her center. In one swift motion, Kaede inhales, uses the cosplayer’s sudden lunge forward to propel her into the air, and flips her over her shoulder as she pushes her other foot out to balance.

Iruma on her back now, she extends the arm Iruma still clutches at- not so much lifting as guiding her forward, letting gravity pull her down. Kaede follows swiftly with an exhale, the flat of one hand planted by Iruma’s head, the other finally released from her clutching fingers as she kneels over the pesterer.

Iruma stares up at her, panting softly- not from exertion, just surprise. Kaede isn’t tired, either. It’s barely any effort to do a flip like that- most of it came from nudging Iruma into motion and then letting her body do the rest. 

Kaede pulls both hands back and stands up, brushing down her skirt. “ _That’s_ how my mother would flip you.” She pauses. “Only, over her shoulder.”

“Holy fuck,” Iruma wheezes.  
She continues to lay on her back for a few moments, just long enough that Kaede worries she might have frightened her, before she sits up and bursts into laughter. “There’s some fight in you, I guess, Bakamatsu,” she crows, running gloved fingers through her twisted hair. “

Kaede fights back a flush, offering a hand. She helps Iruma up, and they sit down again, and Iruma, surprisingly, is much more sociable now, fidgeting with the charms on her gloves like she can’t sit still. “Just please don’t say things like that about my mother or my dojo,” Kaede says, wrinkling her nose. “Can’t we talk about cosplay or something instead?”

Iruma gives her a solid thumbs down and sticks out her tongue. “You’ll have to level up your friend points before you go trying to unlock any of my secrets, dumbass.”

“Well-” Kaede closes her eyes for a moment, somehow more exhausted by this than by the flip. “Okay. How about…. What got you into it?”

Iruma thinks for a moment, a hand sliding into that mess of wayward curls again. She shakes her hair out as the thinks, the movement making the charms on her spiked collar tremble. “Anime, I guess, like everyone else. I used t’ be pretty big on tumblr, yknow, and I… I dunno, really liked the vibes. I always like to take a characters outfit and jazz it up a lil- because they can’t make anything too complicated for the sake of animation. Takes too long to animate a ton of extra details. But in real life? It’s free game, baby!” She cackles again- it’s funny how someone so cute is so crude at the same time, pushing out her chest and laughing with her hands on her hips. “Hey, Bakamatsu, you should follow my tiktok when we’re outta here!” 

“Your tiktok?” Despite herself, Kaede finds laughter spilling out of her mouth. “Okay, okay, I promise. It’ll be a colorful spot amidst all the martial arts instruction and music covers, I’m sure.”

“Damn right it will be!” Iruma’s eyes glint as she leans over, adjusting the collar of Kaede’s shirt for her. “Yknow, maybe I will make something for you when we get out of here. Just because you’re a monk or whatever doesn’t mean you have to dress like one.”

Kaede rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Iruma-san. I’ll be sure to remember the offer the next time I want to go into a match with sixteen pieces of jewellery on for my opponent to grab.”

“Was that sass? Did you just get cocky with me, Akamatsu?”

“Someone has to.”

“How fucking dare-”

And like that, they’re dragged back into arguing. Iruma is equal parts crass and annoying, and she says the most- insane, stupid things, sometimes, offering to measure Kaede’s chest for cosplay and actually trying to grab her again. She backs off fast when you use a stern tone, at least, but she is- definitely one of the more frustrating people Kaede has ever met. By the time they part, she’s exhausted, having been pushed to debate topics she never thought were even worth debating. Like, seriously- how important is it that everyone wears fishnets once?

Still, when she falls into bed to nap for a little while, she feels like they grew a little closer today.

\--

Akamatsu, with her eyes like plums- round and ripe and equal parts sweet and tart- is with Iruma now. They parted ways after breakfast, with a promise to meet up again later- but for now, Shuichi is alone. 

His first instinct is to gravitate back to the library, and he spends a solid ten minutes dithering in the overgrown halls, kicking things about- a loose sheet of paper, abandoned paperclip, a lone card resting like a doorstop. 

If he goes, he might alert this ringleader to his knowledge. If he doesn’t, it might seem suspicious that he’s avoiding it. Is it worth checking yet? Shuichi counts his steps down to the basement, walks in and picks up a history book- Something on classical Greece that he’s read before. He checks and double checks his solitude. He pulls his mask a little higher on his nose to block out the dusty air. He clicks in the book and pushes out the door.

The keycard holder sits, clear of dust. He can see a fresh fingerprint on one of the buttons.

His heart is pounding in his ears, blooding thudding so loudly that it barely feels liquid. He forces his hands to steady as he shuts the door, resists the urge to run out. He swaps the book out for something else, something on one of Rome’s many bloodthirsty leaders, and he pulls his mask higher again and bites his lip as he forces his legs to move up and away one step at a time.

Shuichi is a studier of social sciences- of connections between people, patterns of behaviour through societies. He knows that Japanese and French people often come across rude to each other- that his instinct to murmur agreements or make sounds to show his attention through a conversation would be bossy to a Parisian who would expect him to listen silently. He knows it’s common courtesy to use first names in most “western” countries, with the exceptions of subcultures in subcultures. He knows that his relationship with gender is a phenomena that goes back as far as history- that there are poems from four hundred years ago about men cradling each other’s hands to their cheeks. He knows that his atypical behaviours- his aversion to eye contact, his hesitancy, have label after label; that he could diagnose himself with four different things for the same symptoms depending on where he was and who he was with. 

Cultural anthropology, he has his hand in that, but it’s always been more of a background understanding to him, stories and religious rites and songs developed to help him understand people. Societies as a whole, yes, but really- humanity has always been the same. It has always had the urge to create as it does to destruct. To perform for a universe in the hope of finding some meaning in its infinity.

Beyond that, he doesn’t understand it much. He’s an anthropologist but his chosen topic of study is always going to bewilder him.

...Not that he ever really _chose_ to study it. Shuichi’s just been watching people all his life.

He watches. He watches Akamatsu and learns that the tremble of her fists can be fear or excitement, dancing on a knife’s edge. He watches the way Yonaga refers to everyone by first name, how she prays before every meal, how her smile is Duchenne, eyes crinkled, but that doesn’t mean it’s real. Tojo stands tall but slightly to the side- it must be intentional, the way she never stands in front of anyone, how she leads by example. Iruma is smart, despite her mouth. It’s clear she’s starved for attention.

Shinguji keeps his fingers bandaged and takes care of his hands and doesn’t like to be touched and Shuichi knows the signs of abuse as well as he knows the signs of overworking. He watches and he knows that Akamatsu already cares for all of them and he knows that she either had too few or far too many friends. He knows that Gokuhara is observant and patient and quietly knowledgeable about his chosen field- that he likely thinks in images more than words and prefers to communicate tactilely, likely due to his upbringing. Chabashira is scared of men and although he knows Akamatsu thinks her obsession with H1M1 is romantic, Shuichi thinks it’s more reverence than anything else. H1M1, too, is human despite the way her skin opens up to reveal nothing but metal, with the way her fingertips flutter around Yonaga’s coat sleeve, the way she watches them eat with envy in her eyes. It’s human to want things.

Shuichi wants things. He’s never learned to want without his chest aching, without his desire feeling soaked and drowned. The taste of triumph on his tongue is watered down- iced coffee left out until every ice cube melted and the glass is muddy and weak.

He wants to go back to his room. He wants to investigate again. It makes him anxious that the others are leaving it all up to Hoshi, leaving him alone as he taps a magnifying glass up to smudges on the glass. He can’t stop thinking about if the detective accepted that offer- who would be able to look through such a crime?  
He wants to chase down Akamatsu and stick to her side. He hates being alone. He feels eyes on him every time he walks through the empty halls. 

_Eyes on him, eyes on his mouth, watching him speak, watching him spill everything until it was too late, too much, he hadn’t known what he was doing he hadn’t known what he was saying why did they let him speak why did they let him_ **_talk_ ** _-_

“What are you doing?”

Shuichi startles so suddenly that he drops his book. He feels breath, hot and sticky, on the back of his neck, an equine giggle in his ear, and Ouma slinks from behind his back to materialize in front of him like a phantom.

“O-Ouma-kun,” he stutters, hastily bending over to pick it up- because social niceties are more important to Shuichi than leaving his back bared. Ouma just watches, haughty and grinning.

They haven’t really spoken since they first met. Shuichi sees the assassin standing in doorways and twirling a knife, speaking in groups, lying his sharp little tongue off. They make eye contact, sometimes, and Ouma might wink or pull a face or stick out his tongue. He’s impossible to miss when he’s speaking, in his white-red-purple outfit like a child dressing himself for the first time, but he vanishes so easily when he doesn’t want to be seen. He doesn’t make any sound when he walks.

Shuichi’s afraid of him, a bit. Not because of his silence, or because of the way he plays with his knife like it’s a toy, or for all his claims of loving the killing game. 

Every interaction they have, he feels like he’s getting played. Shuichi doesn’t understand humanity at all, but he understands what drives it to destroy itself. 

He sees it in Ouma’s face when his masks flicker. He tries not to wonder what it’s like, being an assassin- being so young and so desensitized to death. He’s read about them plenty- death as a trade, in every society, in every age. Soldiers and slaves. He wonders how young Ouma was when he was inducted. He wonders if his enjoyment of all this is a coping mechanism, and when it developed.

“Nope! It’s Momota-chan, actually. Gosh, did you really mix our names up already?”

“I know your name,” Shuichi mumbles, scanning over Ouma’s form. He seems to preen under the attention, twirling one obnoxious curl around his finger.

“I’m touched you remembered little ol’ me,” he chirps, swaying forward on his tiptoes. No knife out today, but that doesn’t make Shuichi feel any easier. He doesn’t want to know what Ouma has in all those pockets- he saw him messing with something like dentist’s equipment the other day. 

He resists the urge to stare, forcing his eyes up on Ouma’s face. Ouma’s eyes crinkle. “I’m just going to my room,” Shuichi says, tucking the book under his arm. “I- I took this out of the library, and I really like some of this author’s translations, so-”

“You speak Latin?” Ouma interrupts, cocking his head, almost birdlike. 

_“_ _Acta deos numquam mortalia fallunt,”_ Shuichi murmurs.

Ouma’s face goes eerily blank, like the lights behind the shadow-puppet play have been blown out mid-performance. He doesn’t blink.

Shuichi wonders, suddenly, if he’s the one ringleading this charade. He feels bad to suspect anyone, but he can’t trust any of them, either- someone here set this up. He thinks to the unsettled dust on the keycard holder. It had to be one of them. 

Or maybe Ouma-kun is a puppet just like the rest of them. Maybe he’s being used by some outside force, raised to know nothing but violence. Assassins are rarely free men.

“You like games, right?” Shuichi asks, staring at the checkerboard around Ouma’s neck, thinking of his card tricks in the library.

Ouma answers by pulling a handful of dice out of one of the pockets on his baggy skirt-shorts, throwing them up and catching them. His eyes glint.

 _“Alea iacta est,”_ he replies.

“Well, it hasn’t really been cast yet,” Shuichi says, even though he knows what Ouma means. “You haven’t really rolled them, that’s not a legal move-”

Ouma responds by tossing one over lightly. Shuichi flinches but catches it, bouncing off the fabric of his glove to fall into his curled fingers.

He sets it on the flat of his hand. 

“What’d I get?” Ouma asks, cheerful as ever.

“A one-” Shuichi starts, but that’s all he gets out before the assassin’s eyes fill with tears.

“A o-one?” he stutters. “That’s a dog roll! The worst one ever! How am I supposed to win our game with a garbage roll like that?” Water spills down his cheeks now- he sniffs, once, twice, and his nose is stained red. 

The little black clown-triangle, upside down on his left cheek, bleeds ink. 

“Ouma-kun,” Shuichi says, softly. “This die is weighted.” He tilts his hand slightly, feels the shift of metal inside, throws it up again and watches it slowly roll into place- another one.

The waterworks dry up immediately. For a moment, there is something tense and silent between them, and Shuichi wonders if this is one more time he's said something he shouldn't have. noticed something he shouldn't have. Maybe this is is his punishment for acting clever- Ouma's eyes are like little violet stones.

Then Ouma lifts a finger to his lips.

“You’re smarter than you look, Saihara-chan,” he says. “I guess I won’t kill you after all.”

“W-what?” Shuichi stutters, the die slipping from his fingers. 

Ouma laughs. “I’ll kill you one day,” he promises, winking as he turns on the heel of one steel-toed boot.

“Your- the die-” Shuichi stammers, dropping to his knees again to pick it up.

“Keep it!” Ouma yells over his shoulder. “You’ve got to get familiar with the idea of death, _Saihara-chan!_ ”

Shuichi watches him go as he fumbles to pull the die from the grass. He’s not sure what game they just played, but he thinks he lost.

He makes one note, though. Ouma’s pronunciation of _alea_ was a little off. He hasn’t figured out how not to roll his Ls.

\--

Kaede sits on her bed a few minutes past curfew. Someone knocks at her door. She calls them in- what’s someone going to do, one-on-one, to an aikido master? She isn’t afraid. 

(She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to sleep.)

Saihara slips in, still in his exact same uniform, with the chains around his neck and studs on his shoulders, mask pulled up over his nose. He greets her with a nod. His eyes are fixed, quiet, as he moves to close the door behind him.

“The dust was moved,” he says.  
Kaede inhales slowly. She closes her eyes. Curls her hands up against the blankets, bunching them up. Releases them. 

“I have a plan,” Saihara says. He hesitates for just a moment, leaning back against the door. 

The light of the room is dyed blue with night, white and grey and black turned dusky and dull. It’s a far cry from her peaceful home, yellow curtains and light, open windows. Her mother sleeping just a room away. Here, it’s just Kaede- and Saihara, standing in the doorway, imposing in the dark even with his soft demeanour. 

(What if he was the one who set this up?)

Kaede won’t let herself doubt him. If she has to doubt anyone, it won’t be her friend. She’ll stick with Saihara to the end of the line.

When Saihara moves forward, his eyes are like gemstones- stormy, thoughtful, analytic. If she looks close enough, she swears she can see the ki in him fluttering like a moth, circling through his bloodstream. “Akamatsu-san,” he says softly. “It could be dangerous.”

Kaede, who has been quiet since she came to bed and took out her pigtails, since she changed into cotton pyjamas and tucked on her sleeping socks and sat down to stare at the wall and think about Iruma, and Saihara, and Kiibo, and all the people she might label as friends… Kaede licks her lips and swallows down a bubble of tension. It settles in her chest and spreads out like air in soda, like her whole body is full of lemonade. 

_“_ _Loyalty and devotion lead to bravery. Bravery leads to the spirit of self-sacrifice. The spirit of self-sacrifice creates trust in the power of love,”_ she says. When she lifts her eyes to meet Shuichi’s properly, he doesn’t look away. “I.... Aikido is all about protecting others as much as yourself. I want to do this. I _need_ to do this. I won’t let any of you get hurt.” Her mouth curls up into a smile as she looks at him, watches him cross over to sit by her on the bed. Like a sleepover, if one of them were strapped up in dark clothes and chains- she can’t tell which one of them is out of place here. Maybe they both are. They don’t belong in this school, with its rotting corridors and ever-present threat of death. “Because we’re all going to be friends, right? On the outside.”

Saihara hesitates for a moment, and then he nods, his eyes creasing. “Right. We’re going to be okay, Akamatsu-san.”

He explains his plan to her. Cameras. Chabashira modifying them. The secret door. Three places. He draws out a sketch of what it will look like. His lines are neat, but his handwriting is scratchy and small. She can imagine him filling up that notebook he carries with him with notes on notes on notes on different people’s personalities- she’s seen him questioning Yonaga about her past. Saihara speaks softly, even now, and she has to lean in close to make it out past his mask. It’s kind of comforting, in a way, like it really is a sleepover. His plan might work. It might. 

And then he leaves. Saihara bids her good night and she gives him a bright smile that maybe he mimics under his mask, and then he leaves and she is left alone with their sketched-out plan.

And it might work. It might.

It might not.

Leaving it to such a last minute operation- she knows it’s their only choice, but it feels. There is so much riding on a few photos.

What if the ringleader doesn’t care? What if they’re already in there, building more monokumas and setting them loose? It is so precarious.

Maybe they could plan things earlier- but, no, they’ve only got a day and they’re already setting out as early as possible. If the mastermind decides to step into their room earlier than scheduled, that’ll be great. That would be perfect. But there’s no guarantee, right? All they can do is set up and wait, and what if- what if they really are left to the last second?

Kaede sits on her bed. She pulls her knees to her chest. She shudders. 

What else can they do? What more can they do? She thinks back to the warehouse, thinks of her favourite anime, thinks of anything else to make this more secure. There’s got to be something more. There has to be another way to make this safer. She stares at the sketched plans again. She thinks about the cameras. She thinks over every move the ringleader might make. She thinks-

She thinks about the ringleader opening the secret door. About where they’ll be standing. She thinks of the library. 

_In the Art of Peace we never attack._

It’s out of the question. Kaede won’t hurt someone, no matter what. It goes against her core philosophy- She’s the ultimate aikido master. Aikido is her life, it is… every piece of her. She’s meant to love her opponents.  
But god, she cannot bring herself to love whoever is doing this to them. She wonders if Ueshiba was ever trapped like this, put in such a position- Kaede is ashamed to even think of it. She pushes the thought far back against her skull, down till it hits the nape of her neck with a dull ache.  
(Morihei Ueshiba promotes empathy- there is no love without understanding. She thinks he would forgive any one of her friends here who chose to act with violence- of course he would. Kaede would forgive them, too. Ueshiba would forgive the ringleader, and Kaede tells herself she can, too. That she can step up to the person who is doing this once they catch them, that she can look them in the eye and love them even after they threatened to kill them all.)  
She will love them and forgive them as she finds the photos, and- and then what? Fifteen to one, they’ll be outnumbered, but the Monokumas have already proven that they’re dangerous. And the exisals, too… surely the ringleader will be on edge. Could Kaede pin them down before they try anything?   
What if they barricade themself in the secret room? What if they have technology like the monokumas on their person?  
What if Kaede underestimates them and they kill every one of her friends?

_An attack is proof that one is out of control._

But it’s unthinkable. Kaede shoves the papers aside and crawls under the covers and squeezes her eyes shut. The images are burned into her mind, though, the layout of the cameras, of the bookshelves, right where the door is. Part of her mind is already thinking about pushing and pulling, about gravity, about distraction, about the nature of things. She could sneak attack someone. She is confident she could overpower any single person here.   
But she won’t, because aikido isn’t about overpowering. Kaede has never hurt an opponent in her life and she will not start now.

 _Never run away from any challenge, but do not try to suppress or control an opponent unnaturally.  
_ _Let attackers come any way they like, and then blend with them._

She could set a trap. That’s not an attack, right? That would be… almost leaving things to fate, really. No one would have to know it was her- but Saihara would figure it out. She couldn’t do that to him.  
Could she let him die as a result of inaction?  
_I am acting,_ she tells herself, but she cannot tell herself that it’s enough. The more she thinks of the plan, the more she is too terrified to leave it up to chance. There is so little time and so many ways it could go wrong. She tries to think of peaceful options- they set up earlier. But that requires Chabashira’s cooperation, and it could give too much away. Maybe they set some kind of rope trap to bind the mastermind, but- she honestly has no idea how they’d even go about that, let alone inconspicuously. Maybe she hides out in the library to pin them- but Saihara would never agree. Maybe they abandon the plan and focus on trying to break out, instead.   
She can’t leave this up to chance, can she?

_Never chase after opponents._

She doesn’t want to do this. She doesn’t have a choice though, right? It’s- she has fifteen people to protect. Fourteen. Because one of them wants to kill them all.  
It’s one of them or all of them. And- you’re not meant to put a distinction between good and bad people in aikido. You can’t. And Kaede is the ultimate, she shouldn’t…. She’s better than this.  
But someone has to.  
Someone has to make sure everyone is safe. Someone has to have Saihara’s back. His trap- it’s not going to work. Not without some adjustments. Kaede knows when she’s outmatched.  
Someone needs to look out for Kiibo, and for Iruma, and Momota, and Harukawa, and Amami- and everyone else who has made Kaede smile and laugh despite her fear, even frosty Ryoma and Ouma’s irritating quips. Someone needs to make sure they’re safe. They can’t do nothing.  
Kaede is the ultimate aikido master, and she’s an aikido master because she wants to protect people. She’ll be the ultimate protector. Even if it means sacrificing everything.

_Redirect each attack and get firmly behind it._

She opens her eyes to stare at the ceiling, fists clenched in the blankets. 

She’ll keep them safe.

\--

Someone, somewhere, watches all this back on tape.

High stakes, with such a short time limit, but everything’s riding on this.

Let’s put on a good show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> latin translations:  
> saihara says "mortal actions never deceive the gods" -this is from Ovid's Lamentations, a collection of letters/poems following his banishment from rome and essentially bemoaning his own fate. romans are whiny but damn if they have some nice wordplay. saihara probably loves ovid and prefers classical rome to classical greece. he probably thinks marc anthony can get some.  
> ouma says "the die has been cast"- he's using a variation of a phrase attributed to julius caesar shortly before a major war. it's a fairly well known quote. up to you if he knows enough Latin to recognize what saihara said or if he's very good at bluffing :)
> 
> next chapter should be HALF this length and take me 3-4 days. im pacing myself now but i make no promises bc i do have exams coming up. anyway im so excited i cant wait to kill off this cast so i dont have to try and give sixteen people equal attention
> 
> anyway my first draft of the iruma FTE involved boob measurement and outfit descriptions worthy of my immortal. I scrapped it.


	4. and the first move is made.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it was really happening. A class trial. Here they all stood- fifteen, odd in number- soon to be either even again or to be one, alone. The atmosphere is like nothing she’s ever felt.
> 
> The elevator feels like it could be sinking right into the core of the earth. They go deep enough that her ears start to feel funny, that the air grows damp, and then they keep going. It feels endless.
> 
> She could feel Saihara almost melting next to her. He walked around like his brain was weighing him down, like even right now all he could do was think and overthink until he fell apart. 
> 
> The elevator rumbled around them, a dull whirr shaking through the air, an undertone to the sound of her heart pounding. Kaede watched her own breath in the chilled air- steady, in, out, trembling like a butterfly on her lips. She was meant to be strong. She would be strong. She wouldn’t let that death be in vain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this would have been out like three days ago if it weren't for exams. but i'm done with that now!!! i am free!!! as a bird!!! all i have to do is hastily try and catch up with saiou week with a handful of um. hopefully short drabbles in one day. or maybe i will just do Saiou Week Part Two: Its Only Unseeliekey.
> 
> anyway!  
> Mention of s//icide here, during saihara and kaede’s discussion, for an unnamed character. To skip it, skip from: "Saihara goes quiet for a moment. Kaede squeezes his hand." to: "“I-” What is she supposed to say to that?"  
> Mentions of animal death, too, during most of Gonta’s perspective- but that's fairly short!

Kaede wakes up feeling no less convicted but far more conflicted. She fell asleep with the barest bones of a plan, and woke with that structure more firmly in place. She has... a bit of an idea, now, but she'll need to wait until she can inspect the library further. Decision. Action. She knows what she's doing.

But her whole body feels hollow with every movement she makes.

Breakfast. Shirogane serves them waffles with whipped cream and berry compote. When Kaede thanks her, the maid smiles brightly.  
“Well,” she says, cheerful as ever. “I figured the last meals of our lives should be something special.” 

Leaving Kaede to swallow that unsettling notion down with her syrup, Shirogane hums as she moves over to set the table with tea. 

Across the table, she makes eye contact with Saihara. They share a nod, and then they go back to their individual meals. 

Kaede watches her friends eat and speak- Shinguji in deep conversation with Angie about the music they play on her island, which she is happy to mimic on the dining table with the palms of her hands. Tojo and Amami are in thoughtful conversation about politics and the latest prime minister, and Gonta is sitting close by and occasionally asking simple but thoughtful questions that they both seem pleased to answer. Hoshi and Harukawa are eating in stone-cold silence, their very energy seeming to make bold Momota wilt a little from where he's sitting next to them, trying to ask Kiibo about zero-gravity tennis.

Ouma is bugging H1M1 about something, and next to them, Chabashira is reacting in her defense- which seems to be bothering H1M1 almost as much as the actual insults.

Kaede leans across the table. “Chabashira-san, can I talk to you in a little bit?” 

"Huh?" Chabashira startles, then nods hastily. "Of course, Akamatsu-san! Um- I'm a bit busy for a while. I'm trying to fix Himiko-san's broken hand! But if you stop by my lab about midday I should be free?"  
  


When Kaede and Saihara step into the inventor's lab, it becomes very obvious that Chabashira is _not_ free.

They have to tiptoe around several piles of wires and spare parts- beeping interfaces that Kaede can't even begin to interpret, but aside from the piles of parts shoved right up against the door, the actual workspace is mostly clean. 

H1M1 waves to them from where she's sitting- propped up on a work table, reading what looks like a copy of _Guiseppe Stromboli and the Briefcase of Meatballs._ It's balanced on her metal-plated knee, right hand turning pages while her left is laid on the table next to her- opened up in a way that is equal parts fascinating and disturbing.

"Hey?" Kaede calls out. Chabashira yells back from somewhere in response- and a few minutes later, she comes rushing out with her arms full of what looks like sheets of gold.

"Hi, hi, hi, Akamatsu-san, I am _so_ sorry, I'm just trying to copy all of Himiko-san's data before I make any major changes and it's more time-consuming than I thoug-" She cuts off abruptly, staring at Saihara. One of the sheets falls to the floor. (Anti-climactically. It's more of a slow drift than anything.) "What are you doing here."

"Um," Saihara says.

"I invited him!" Kaede jumps in hastily, bouncing in between Chabashira's line of view and Saihara. "We have an invention we'd like you to work on- right, Saihara?"

Chabashira looks dubious but gestures them over anyway, laying out the sheets over a nearby table and then turning to stare at them.

Saihara produces the cameras and explains what they want in hesitant detail. Kaede keeps her fingers crossed.

It goes about as well as she expected.

Chabashira lifts her head, responding hotly. “Tenko will _never_ make something like that for a degenerate! I know what men do with cameras! You just want to spy on all the girls, I know, you’re going to save photos of them when they’re vulnerable and try to blackmail them- you’re going to try to intimidate me to steal all my inventions!”

“Chabashira-san!” Kaede feels embarrassed on her friend’s behalf- but from the way Saihara is pulling up his mask, he already seems humiliated enough for the both of them. “Saihara-kun isn’t like that, he’s a really good person!”

“Boys aren’t good people,” Chabashira says, lifting her head to stare at him derisively. “Akamatsu-san, you should stay away from him. All males think about is stealing and hurting girls.”

Still sitting on the worktable, H1M1 yawns, thoughtfully. “When my professor was making me- my form, she said I could choose my gender on my own. Obviously I was already the ghost of a girl, so I didn’t need to… But I wonder if you’d still like me if I was a boy robot.” She tilts her head to the side, looking a little unimpressed. “I’d still have my magic, either way.”

“Himiko-san is too nice to be a boy,” Chabashira says passionately, crossing her arms. “It wouldn’t matter what body you were possessing! It doesn’t matter if you’re in a robot body, or a doll body, or even if you possessed one of the degenerates here! You’re still a girl at heart, and I’ll protect you!”

“What do you think of Kiibo?” Kaede asks, a little hesitantly. 

Chabashira sniffs, turning away to move over and sort through a box of machine parts. “Kiibo-san is passable. They’re not a degenerate, but they’re not a girl either.” She says this like it explains itself- like it’s the only relevant criteria to Kiibo’s mortality.

“Um, sorry, but, we really do need to get these cameras altered,” Saihara says, quietly. Chabashira whirls around to glare at him, socket wrench in her hand, eyes flashing.

“Tenko will not make anything for a degenerate.”

“But-”

“But nothing!” She crosses her arms again. “Especially not cameras. I will _never_ let a boy have one of my inventions.”

H1M1 rubs her eyes.

Kaede takes a breath, before she crosses over and takes Chabashira's hand, ignoring the startled squawk she gets in response. "Chabashira-chan," she says softly, "please."  
Chabashira's eyes are the size of dinner plates. Kaede bites back a smile and goes for the earnest look instead, trying not to think about how cute her awkwardness is. "You know I wouldn't let Saihara-kun do something like that, right? I promise I'm able to take care of myself. And I'm able to take care of you guys, too." She squeezes her hand. "We really, really, really need the cameras, but I promise I'll watch them the whole time, and I won't let him do anything. They'll be safe with me."

Chabashira swallows, then looks over to Saihara, clearly still skeptical. "But what if he does something while you aren't looking?"

"I'll look the whole time," Kaede promises- it's a lie, but Chabashira still seems a little soothed. "Can you please trust me? I know you just want to protect us. I want to protect you guys, too. And this is the best way to do it."

Suddenly, unprompted, Saihara stumbles forward, and Chabashira actively jumps back. Red faced, the anthropologist mumbles an apology before he tumbles to his knees, bowing his head.   
"Chabashira-san," he says. "I promise I wouldn't dream of doing anything bad with or to your inventions. Please trust Akamatsu-san, for her sake."

Chabashira inhales shakily, then turns her face away from the both of them, her cheeks all red. "You promise you won't trick her?"

"I promise."

Slightly bemused, Kaede smiles and draws an X over her heart. "I promise I won't get tricked."

Chabashira puffs out her cheeks in a pout. She fidgets with the ruffles on her overalls. The sailor collar of her top. The fabric petals around her goggles. The twisted ends of her hair. 

"Just say yes and finish soldering my arm shut," H1M1 moans.

"Yes!" Chabashira stammers out, then crosses her arms and scowls. "But I'm doing this for Akamatsu-san. _Not_ for the degenerate."

"Thank you so much, Chabashira-san," Kaede breathes, lunging forward to pull the girl in a hug. Chabashira squeaks and squirms like she hates it, but when Kaede pulls back, she's smiling, even if she can't make eye contact.

"Come by tomorrow," she says, figeting with her hair again. "I'll make them so well, Akamatsu-san."

\--

Rantaro first started performing to comfort his sisters- simple sleight of hand. Pull a coin from behind Momo’s ear after she’d woken from a nightmare, get the family cat to appear as he pulled a blanket away during a storm, make rose petals tumble out of Aiko’s open hands as she laughed between tears. Over time, his little performances became party tricks- when his stepmothers hosted elaborate parties, it wouldn’t be long before he had a sibling running over and tugging on his sleeve, pushing a deck of cards into his hands and begging him to show her friends that one trick, you know, Taro, the one where you find the ace and the queen and the jack- and he would teasingly ask them to be more specific as he made the deck of cards disappear into his sleeves. And then his party tricks became a central part of the parties, and then he was performing for people he’d never met before- and every time, there were his sisters, sitting in the audience, cheering louder than anyone.

He hasn’t seen his sisters in years, but he still thinks of them every time he performs. Every time his face is plastered on a poster in the middle of a city and he wonders if they’re seeing it- if they’re out there somewhere, looking for him too. 

Is it selfish of him, to be so afraid of dying before he finds them again? No one deserves to be here. No one deserves to be in this situation. He _knows_ the others have people they want to get back to, people they love so dearly they don’t know what to do with it. He knows they have things they want to do- every one of them, bright and talented and _ultimate_ , their whole lives stretched ahead of them. To cut them down in their prime seems beyond cruel. 

Not for the first time, he wonders what the purpose of this all is. Rantaro flips a coin three times in a row- heads, tails, heads, simple trick. What’s the point of anything fancier? His sisters aren’t here to see it. (And it’s his fault they aren’t.)

Time passes, or maybe it doesn’t- precious minutes he could be planning an escape, or looking around, or bonding with the others. He could be partying with Iruma, making the most of the last… what, thirty or so hours of his life? He remembers when two days before an exam meant he could keep procrastinating a little more. A full day of study could always catch him up- but here, there isn’t enough time in the world to pull himself together. To keep everyone safe. And still he puts it off, flipping a coin, dragging himself through his own fear. He should get up. He should stop mourning a death that hasn’t yet arrived. He should just… move. Go find the others. Comfort those who need comforting. Let himself be comforted at the same time. 

“You got a ways to go, kid,” someone mumbles.

Rantaro glances up- he’s been slouching over the seats outside the dining hall, staring at his hands, and it’s startling to remember there are others around- that technically, he’s in danger. “Ah, Hoshi-kun.” The detective looks no more pleased to see him than he did earlier- not that Rantaro can blame him. He smiles despite the blank look he gets in return. “Sorry, did you expect a fancier trick? I could pull a dove from your hat, if you liked.” (A bluff.)

Hoshi grunts and looks away, clearly uninterested, and wanders over. He hoists himself up onto the bench with some effort, then reaches in his jacket pocket for a cigarette, which he offers out to Rantaro with a raised eyebrow.

“Ah, I don’t smoke tobacco.”

Rantaro laughs at the look he gets for that, as Hoshi shrugs and sticks it between his lips. “Suit yourself.” The detective lights up, tucks the lighter away, and inhales. 

“That’s not good for your lungs, you know,” Rantaro says gently- it’s still there, the urge to older-brother, to look out for the people around him. Hoshi seems largely unimpressed.

“Don’t have much use for them,” he says, staring into the distance as he takes a drag. 

Rantaro frowns, but then covers it up with another awkward laugh, reaching up to run his hand through the back of his hair. “I’m sure the rest of your body disagrees.”

“Not much use for that, either.” Hoshi blows smoke into the cool morning air, and Rantaro watches it dissolve, along with the conversation.

They’re left in uncomfortable silence. Rantaro can feel the ticking of the countdown tapping against the back of his neck- one second for every bump in his spine. One day left. Maybe some last minute rescue will arrive, will shut this whole thing down. Maybe there’ll be no need for bloodshed of any kind. Maybe they’ll all be okay, quiet, gruff, Hoshi, Akamatsu with her bright eyes, little H1M1, passionate Momota. Maybe he’ll be set free from this dome and his sisters will be waiting for him outside. 

“I was gonna suggest this to the others tomorrow anyway,” Hoshi says suddenly. When Rantaro glances over, the detective flicks ash into the wind. Part of Rantaro wonders if Shirogane will come by tomorrow morning to clean it up- if there’ll be any point to it. “There’s a pretty obvious solution here.”

“What’s that?” Rantaro asks, smiling. Despite the words, he feels no more comforted, no hope lighting in his chest. Maybe it’s the way Hoshi says it, all dead eyes and distance.

“If someone takes the offer the bear made, they can graduate without a trial,” Hoshi says, pausing to take another long drag. “Go ‘n get help for the rest of us.”

“Do you really think they would let them go so easily?” Rantaro asks, quietly. It seems too… easy. Why let one of your kidnappees free into the world, to run and inform everyone of your plans? Particularly such high-profile ultimates.

“They just want us to start killing,” Hoshi says darkly. “I’m sure letting one go isn’t a problem as long as it makes the rest more paranoid.”

“No one’s going to kill,” Rantaro tells him. 

Hoshi shifts, crosses one short leg over the bench, and looks up to stare at him. “Someone should,” he says. “It’s the logical answer.”

“No,” Rantaro says, his heart starting to thud at his ribcage. Is he afraid? For himself? “No one should have to lay their life down for the rest of us-”

“I’m offering,” Hoshi says, reaching up to tug at the brim of his hat- like a joke, tip of his detective hat, like he’s not pushing his life into Rantaro’s hands, his overfull hourglass leaking sand through his slack jaw. “I don’t have a use for my life anymore. You should kill me.”

“I won’t do that,” Rantaro says, his voice coming from somewhere low in his throat. “And I won’t let the others do that, either.”

Hoshi eyes him like he’s a particularly stupid child. “It’s not your choice. It’s my life to give away.”

“And it’s my choice to say I won’t let you do that.”

“So you’ll let all the others die in my place?”

“I-” Rantaro cuts himself off, staring down at Hoshi. The detective has the darkest eyes of anyone he’s ever seen- pinstripe suit under his leather jacket, blue tie knotted too tight around his throat. 

Rantaro’s read about what happened to his family. About what the detective did to get his revenge. Sources differ a little on how he killed. A gun, usually, simple and brutal. Some say a crossbow. One particular odd paper said tennis balls and a lot of skill. Whatever he did, he took out almost an entire mob group in one night and lived to tell the tale- from behind prison bars. It must have been hard on him. He looks miserable beyond words. 

It’s not fair.

“I won’t let anyone die,” Rantaro says. “We’ll find a way to escape this without death.” 

Hoshi clicks his tongue. “You really think it’ll be that easy?”

“Of course not,” he says, thinking of his family. “Of course it won’t be easy. But that doesn’t mean we can’t do it. I trust Akamatsu. I trust the others, too- Momota and Tojo and Gonta. They’re all doing their best to protect us. We can’t just let that go to waste, right?”

Hoshi stares at him a moment longer, seemingly unconvinced. He shakes his head, staring at the ground as he relights his burnt-out cigarette, the flame close enough to lick at his chin. “I’m still gonna suggest it to the others. Seems wrong to rob ‘em of their best chance of survival.” Rantaro watches the way his eyes focus on the flame, unseeing and hyperalert all at once.

“Is this about them, Hoshi-kun, or is it about you not wanting to see more death?” He asks, lowering his voice a little.

Hoshi doesn’t react in any obvious way to the question, but his fingers tremble a little when he lowers the lighter and tucks it back into his breast pocket. “I don’t have anything worth living for,” he repeats.

“You will when we get out of here,” Rantaro promises him, smiling despite himself. Part of him wants to lean over, wrap an arm around his shoulders, mess with his hat, straighten the lapels of his jacket. He doesn’t, though. Rantaro wants to care for people, has been looking out for others his whole life, but he knows when his support won’t be helpful. He doesn’t reach out to touch Hoshi. He just crosses his ankles and props his elbows up behind him, staring over the courtyard.

_We’ll find a way out of this._

\--

Kaede wakes up, and it feels like she didn’t sleep at all. It feels like one moment she closed her eyes, and she was one person, and the next, she opens them, and she doesn’t know who she is. Her blood fizzes all day.

Saihara collects the cameras, and Kaede meets him in the library. He sets up his trap, and she sets up hers- she makes a joke about him looking up her skirt that only serves to make things more awkward, but she hopes he’s distracted enough by it to ignore the focus she spends on arranging the books.

It’s almost too easy. She’d checked out the library on her own, beforehand, and pushing them up to the vent is child’s play. Hopefully the slope is gentle enough and the books provide enough cover to dampen the sound. Hopefully.

They set up the cameras, and the sensors, and Saihara sounds… so much calmer, now that he has a plan. He’s really in his element like this, surrounded by mouldy tomes in languages Kaede doesn’t even recognize, taping cameras to the books. She makes sure she gets the one on the bookcase door. She clicks the flash on.

They leave. They head upstairs, to the classroom by the staircase, and Kaede says it’s a good thing they’ll be able to watch and she doesn’t stare at the vent and she doesn’t think about the extra weight in her satchel when she pulls out a water bottle and passes it to Saihara. They sit across from each other at a desk, security sensor between them, and she doesn’t look at the vent.

And then all that’s left to do is wait.

\--

And they wait. And they wait.

Saihara’s fingertips drum over the table, staccato beat. She wonders if there’s a melody playing in his head, some kind of soft song- or maybe something with a heavy bass and aching vocals to match with his whole… aesthetic. Does Saihara like lighter music, gentle and fluid, or does he prefer a heavier tone? Do lyrics matter to him, or does he appreciate the sound for what it is? 

Kaede could ask. There’s a lot she could say. She reminds herself that there’ll be time for it all later, tucking her ankles together under the table. Instead, she asks about what he wants to do when they escape.

Saihara blinks, like he hadn’t even considered it, and his tapping slows. He reaches up, hand to his mouth to muffle his own voice even further.

She misses the sound, a little.

“After we report this all to the authorities? ...See my uncle, I suppose,” he says. Saihara’s brow furrows, and he stares at the table. She thinks he might be smiling, although she can’t really tell- all his eyes show is confliction.

Kaede leans her chin in her hands, looking over at him thoughtfully. “You mentioned him before, right? He’s the one who got you into anthropology.”

Saihara nods, the gesture jerky and a little hesitant. “Right. Um, I’ve lived with him for most of my life. My parents… aren’t around a lot.” He lowers his hand from his mask and resumes his tapping against the table, a slightly different rhythm now. Maybe it means something in morse code. Kaede wouldn’t know. “And… anthropology is such a broad subject, it’s not that he taught it to me as such, just that… it’s easy to pick up. I mean- I would argue everyone studies it, you know?” He lets out a soft breath of air- a laugh, Kaede realizes, a moment after it passes. “From the folk tales you’re read, to the music you listen to, to every person you interact with. We have to learn about culture. We have to learn about people.”

“What kind of person could do all of this?” Kaede asks, quietly. It’s unthinkable to her. To live a life where all you want is to cut others down- to watch them tear each other apart. She can’t imagine living like that.”

Saihara shifts slightly in his seat, hands curling and uncurling. “Violence is as intrinsic to the human experience as love- or as trade, maybe. Even in times where we are sheltered from death, it manifests in cruelty, words designed to cut through competition or reallocate resources. Some people crave more though- or maybe it just manifests more for them. There’s… the debate over morality is complex.”

Kaede puffs a breath into her cupped palm, staring at the floor. “Do you think morality is. Objective?” She’s not really the greatest philosopher; it might be a key part of aikido, but she’s only ever studied in terms of aikido, in terms of the art of peace and the path to love and to true, noble victory. She’s curious about the opinion of someone who claims to seek out the worst parts of humanity- and just to observe, not to change them. 

“I don’t think morality can _be_ objective. Free will is crucial to it… I mean, that’s what I think.” For a moment, Saihara sounds almost firm in his opinions, and then his voice dies back and he picks at his gloves.

Kaede smiles at him encouragingly. “I like that way of thinking! There’s not really much point to anything if it’s all laid out, right? We can always become better people. We can always carve our own paths.”

“You’re so positive, Akamatsu-san,” Saihara murmurs. “I- I really admire that.”

She laughs, even if her chest feels hollow. Breathe in. Intake energy and spirit, let it settle in your swollen stomach, exhale it back into the world and feel your muscles constrict, coil inward.  
“Honestly, Saihara-kun?” She says, looking up at him from the table. He doesn’t look away. “I’m really scared.” When she says that, he blinks a little, like he’s surprised to hear it- or surprised to hear her admit it, maybe. She laughs, again, and it comes out shaky and weak. “Fear is a natural emotion. And you shouldn’t… fight against your emotions. You should let them flow through you, and take control of them.” Kaede looks back down to the table. “I’m afraid,” she says, and then, louder, “but I won’t let my fear hold me back.”

Saihara watches her for a few moments before he speaks. One of those long, gloved hands twitches up to his face and then drops down again. “You’re a lot braver than I am,” he breathes out. “Kaede, I…” His fingers curl around the edge of the table, their tap-tap-tap rhythm ending in a slow slide over the smooth wood. 

“You don’t have to tell me-” Kaede starts, at the same time Saihara says “I shouldn’t be an ultimate.”

Kaede goes quiet. Saihara takes in a deep, shuddering breath.

“I, um,” he begins, and then stops again. “I. I told you that I wrote a paper, right? Based off my uncle’s research. Well, that’s true, but. It’s not anything that impressive. It’s… an antithesis, really.” He twists his hands together, worrying at the fabric of his gloves. Kaede has to resist the urge to reach over and pull his hands apart. “Which, um, is important. It’s good to have debate and discourse in academia, but…” 

Saihara lifts his heavy eyes from the floor, grief flashing through them. “There was another academic- a doctor of anthropology, who my uncle had been having problems with. Their fields of research, um, really conflicted. But because this professor was technically higher in position in the same university as my uncle, a-and he had tenure, there really wasn’t much he could do. I didn’t really get to know about most of it, just… He published a paper, one year, and I read it. And he used some, ah, some evidence he’d uncovered himself- with my uncle. It was also sort of, ah, the first interpretation written of the evidence- um, some texts they’d uncovered. The paper was pretty standard, um, just sort of reinforcing current perceptions of feudal Japan, but, I-” Saihara stops again, inhaling sharply. Kaede can practically feel the air get trapped in his throat- like just getting through this story is like dragging his spirit through a bramble bush, the skin of it catching and stopping in the thorns.

“It’s okay,” she tells him, gently. He shakes his head.

“Because I’d been studying my uncle’s research, I- I had seen the full texts they’d recovered. And I knew he was intentionally leaving out a part of it. My uncle couldn’t really do anything because it was sort of implied that he was involved in the research paper, and, um, because there’s kind of a politics to it all… but I. I’m not affiliated with the university- or, I _wasn’t_ , not really, and I. I wrote my research paper on the remaining evidence, and how it contradicted one of his major arguments.” Saihara hangs his head, suddenly, eyes squeezed shut. “I wrote it in a little less than a month, and I handed it in to another professor at a different university. I wasn’t a student- I hadn’t even finished high school- so when I say I’ve written a paper, I. I’m not accredited for it at all, I mean- I sort of am, but it’s complicated. And looking back, I wish I’d phrased so much of it differently, and some of the conclusions I draw are just-”  
He stops again, and Kaede realizes his shoulders are shaking. She reaches out and takes his hand, and although he doesn’t open his eyes, he doesn’t cry, either. “I’m not proud of anything I did there. It only got the attention it did because I was essentially calling out a very well-respected professor for academic dishonesty. And it worked.”

Saihara goes quiet for a moment. Kaede squeezes his hand.

“He lost his tenure. And his job. It turned out he’d been covering up some other texts, too, and there was some discussion about him hoarding resources… I’m not sure. I had to testify for a case against him, but it all went by very fast.” His voice has dropped so low by now that Kaede has to lean in to hear it, that his mask muffles half his enunciation. “And then I found out a few months later that he’d taken his life.”

“Saihara-kun,” Kaede whispers, horrified.

He laughs- the sound sharp and wet all at once, and he looks up and his eyes are creased and shining. “No one else would hire him! I think he got a job at a warehouse or something, but his friends left him and his credentials were in shambles. Y-you can’t just manipulate historical evidence to prove a point, and there’s already so much bias in anthropology, so everyone just. Tried to wipe their hands of him as quickly as possible. And he had nothing else!”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Kaede begins, but he interrupts her- the words all in a rush, like he can’t get them out of his mouth fast enough.

“I still remember what it felt like, when I found out. It was just a little after they’d given me my ultimate title. A- a reporter came to interview me, and I was just, so, so, so- blindsided. She was holding this microphone up to my face, up to my mouth, and I just remembered when I was testifying, looking across him in the court room, and how proud my uncle had been of me, and I- she kept asking how I felt, and holding it up to me, and-” He shakes his head rapidly, long strands of dark hair twitching outward, and then he lifts his eyes to meet hers again. “That’s why I wear the mask, Akamatsu-san. I hate it when people see me speak. I- I still remember all the stupid words that I used that ruined someone’s life- for what? I. I never expected to be an ultimate. I never _asked_ to be one. I don’t even know if I want to be an anthropologist, I just haven’t… I’ve never had the chance not to be.”

Kaede isn’t really sure what to say. This is- heavy, the sort of thing she’s been blissfully kept from. Her life seems so much lighter in comparison. Kaede’s never felt death breathing on her until now, but Saihara… She slowly releases his hand, then brings both of hers to clasp around it again, looking down at his dark gloves. “Saihara-kun,” she says softly. “I think you’re a great anthropologist. You’re really observant, and clever, and you’re really good with people… you always notice interesting things about them.” She’s spitballing, a little, pulling compliments out that she might struggle to back up with hard evidence, but she knows they’re true. “And I’m sure you’re being overly critical about the paper… I don’t think they would take your assertions very seriously if there wasn’t enough to back them up!” 

Saihara shifts again, still looking away. “I just. Is that worth it? Is it worth it?” Suddenly, his eyes flick back up, and the mask seems to tighten against his face as his hand tenses in hers. “Is that worth someone’s life? My ideas of justice? I thought my uncle deserved better. I didn’t write that paper out of love for the subject. I wrote it out of jealousy. Is it worth it, Akamatsu-san?” 

“I-” What is she supposed to say to that?

“I feel like I’m just here to observe humanity but never really participate,” Saihara says, laughing bitterly.

Kaede shakes her head, pulling her hands back. Something flashes in Saihara’s eyes, like a blink of lightning sequestered in clouds. “That’s not true. You’re participating. Because- you’re here, right? And you’re here with me, and you were the one who came up with that plan!!” 

He says nothing, but slowly, his hand relaxes a little. Kaede can feel his ki, all coiled tight and choked up in his chest. She smiles.

“And, hey, I get why you wear the mask now, and I think that’s understandable. But I bet you look really cute under there,” she grins.

“Ah.” Saihara glances away again, and his spare hand comes up to tug at it. “I’m average, really.”

“I only hang out with cute people,” Kaede tells him, and that gets a soft laugh. She releases his hand again, leaning her elbows on the table. “Seriously, Saihara-kun. You can’t blame yourself for that. You were just a kid, yknow?”

“I…” She watches his eyes flick sideways, his throat bob. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Part of Kaede feels like she didn’t quite get through to him, but she smiles anyway. “No problem!”

The conversation eases a little after that- serious topics out of the way. Saihara seems a tiny bit more at ease, and Kaede can ignore the weight on her own shoulders when she’s trying to distract him from his. They talk about their peers, about cute girls- Saihara asks a little about the philosophy of aikido and they talk about pacifism as an ideology, and even as Kaede grows more and more tense, she keeps talking and he talks back and it’s almost like they’re just two friends in a classroom. 

And then;

“Wait, what’s that-”

Voices outside. Kaede can make out Momota’s, but not what he’s saying. She shares a quick look with Saihara, and they both nod.  
Creeping over to the door, they peer out of it, watching a group head down the stairs. It looks like… Momota, at the front, closely followed by Amami and Tojo, busy in quiet conversation. Behind them, Chabashira chattering to an unimpressed H1M1, Kiibo occasionally murmuring something in response to the pair, and Gonta at the back, seeming confused but excited.

“What are they doing?” Kaede whispers.

Saihara’s long fingers curl around the edge of the door. He seems both liquid-and paper, like a strong breeze might make him flutter or evaporate. “Why are they going to the basement?”

Kaede has no answer for that. They wait, together, hovering by the door, until the group has disappeared down the stairs. If Saihara looks like fluid and like paper, Kaede feels like sludge and muck and a hundred buzzing bees all at once. “What if one of them is the mastermind?” She whispers, watching the way the astronaut glances around as they move out of sight.

Saihara makes a soft, frustrated sound. “If they are, they won’t do anything if there’s a group around! They’re going to ruin our plan.” He waits a few more beats, until the sound of footsteps has completely disappeared, and then he tugs at his gloves and reaches for the doorknob. “Wait here and keep watch. I’m going to see what’s going on.”

“Wait-” Kaede reaches for his arm instinctively, and a small, shameful part of her twists up. _Don’t leave me alone with my thoughts._ “I’ll come with you. It could be dangerous.”

He shakes his head. “Someone needs to watch the vent, right? I’ll be quick, Akamatsu-san.” It looks like he smiles before he leaves, eyes all creased. She can barely hear his footsteps as he moves away, door slipping shut with no sound at all.

Kaede’s eyes flick to the vent. Her skin feels cold all over.

_Come back. Come back. Don’t leave me alone in here._

She has to keep herself busy- running through techniques, first, second, third, fourth, bouncing her legs, jumping, twisting her arms. She runs around the entire classroom. 

She circles the room. She passes the vent. She can't breathe. 

It feels like a thousand years pass before Saihara returns, and when she looks up, her throat feels like it's filled with nails.

Saihara nods, though, none of the earlier tension around his eyes. "It's okay. They went into the game room, not the library."

"The game room?" Kaede asks, confused enough about that to push the restlessness in her right down to the soles of her feet. She steps on it, rocks her weight over those awful feelings until she's smothered them down. "Why would they go there?"

"Maybe they wanted to play a game of uno with the last hour of their lives."

"Ha, ha." Kaede nudges his shoulder playfully, and it almost feels- it almost feels normal. "Was there anything else weird?"

"H1M1 was outside the room- but she didn't see me. She seemed like she was falling asleep while I was looking around,” Saihara says, and it sounds almost fond. Kaede smiles at the thought, as her heart thuds in her chest. "I'm sorry I left you alone. Were you okay?"

"Just fine," she lies, and beckons him over to come and sit down again. He murmurs a thank you, and she closes her eyes, and lets his presence soothe her worries again. It's fine. It's fine. It's going to be okay.

And then the music starts.

\--

Gonta is scared. 

Growing up in the wild, you learn to be afraid. Even in his wolf family, he was jumpy and restless. He learned to listen for the snap of twigs and the rustle of leaves, and he learned to watch for glowing eyes and twitching tails. 

Gonta’s art is filled with those- eyes and tails and broken teeth and shapes in the dark. His speech therapist, the one helping him adjust to human society again, told him that the human brain is good at recognizing faces even when there aren’t any. Gonta told her that most of the face he saw looked like wolves. She showed him ink splatters and he pointed out leaves and pigments and eyes in the dark stains, and she reminded him he was safe. 

He didn’t quite understand at first- being safe. It’s natural to be afraid. Everything is dangerous, even for a wolf- even for someone like Gonta, big and tough and able to wrestle with his family just as well as his siblings.

(Three of them- there were five in the litter, but Gonta got found and had to go back to the city, and his biggest sister was too kind and too brave. Gonta’s seventh winter was cold and desolate, and the smaller prey wasn’t enough. She died with her belly leaking over the snow in shades of dark purple and red that he still struggles to paint with, and they all sat up in vigil for three nights, howling at the sky without hunting.)

But Gonta learned to feel safe again, in galleries with white walls and paint on the fancy suits his human mother dressed him in, and at tea parties where the humans laughed at him. And on the days when he was allowed to go back to the forest and visit his wolf family, when he brought his sketchbook and played with them until they all fell in a panting pile and then he drew paws and tails and muzzles overlapping in shades of grey and brown and white, laying in the sun until the odd little machine buzzed in his pocket and called him back to the city. He learned that safe was a thing humans got to feel, and the more human you were, the more safe you felt. Gonta was going to become a gentleman who fulfilled his place in society, was going to be an artist who showed the humans how kind his wolf family was, and then maybe his wolf family would be able to feel safe, too.

They were afraid of humans, he knew that. 

Right now, Gonta is afraid of humans, too.

He’s sitting in the AV room, because it all got too much for him- the talking of violence and strategy, and long words he hasn’t learned yet and is too nervous to check the meaning of. Gonta isn’t smart, he knows that, but he isn’t stupid, either. He knows the best thing to do is to follow the smart people and do what he can. And he knows he’s strong. He knows they want him to fight. Gonta’s teeth and hands will tear through the little metal bears, as many as he can. (Maybe he will die like his sister, overcome by an enemy just too big for him to break under his jaw. Maybe he will die surrounded by people he wants to feed and protect, with his blood staining his fur and these odd, unnatural plants. Maybe the others would escape if he held them off long enough. Maybe they would howl for him, too. Gonta thinks this would be an okay death.)

That’s why he’s in here, shut up and staring at the screen in front of him, watching the way his animal friends fight on the screen. It makes him feel powerful, watching the fox twist and turn and trick its enemies, watching the rabbits stomp their feet and rear up with surprisingly sharp claws. In the art galleries, they love Gonta’s nature work- the colors of the plants, and the rivers, and the way he puts all the shapes together in a way that’s new to most people who never saw the wild as a home. But Gonta likes his sketches the best- the way he draws the motion in a limb, or captures the spirit of a height in one image- lines on the paper that don’t move on their own- so he draws more in for them, five frames of violence in one page. He watches the nature documentaries and he thinks of his family, and his sister, and he lets his chest swell. Gonta is ready to fight. 

There’s a knocking on the other door, the one that leads into the hallway. Gonta really doesn’t want to leave his movies, but he does anyway, because this might be important.

He gets the door open with a little effort, holding it in place. It’s Tojo, the head of her pack, and she is smiling at him. Her eyebrows are curved up like silkwoms, her face all creased. “Gonta-san,” she says, softly. “We were worried about you. Are you okay?”

He nods, because he’s not quite sure how to find the best words to explain how he needed to prepare himself for the fight, and even if he’s being carefully taught how to perform, he still reverts back to body language most times he finds himself lost.

“That’s good.” She’s still smiling, her teeth all white, like she’s never had to chew down on bone before. “Would you like to rejoin us?”

He shakes his head, but he smiles back at her. “No thank you. Gonta needs more time.”

“Of course.” She bows her head, and he bows back, and then she hesitates. “You know…. It’s okay to be afraid. I have faith that everything will work out.”

Faith- he’s heard Angie talk about it before, with her hands clasped and her eyes all sparkling. Gonta nods. “Gonta will protect friends! No matter what.”

Tojo hesitates a moment, then nods. “Of course.”

Her head is still bowed, when she moves away.

\--

The receiver goes off.

Saihara is out the door before there’s time for Kaede to fully process it. He calls out over his shoulder, and she stumbles, tripping over her limbs that have never betrayed her before. She feels clumsy and weak and disconnected from her body. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion. It feels like the song won’t stop playing.

Kaede drags herself over to the wall. She opens her satchel. She pulls out the shot put.

“I am so sorry,” she whispers, and she places it down as gently as possible before she lets go and watches it fall. 

She can’t even hear it over the music. Kaede stops, stares. It feels like it’s been a million years- but no, it’s only a few seconds.

She drops everything she’s holding and bolts out of that awful, awful room, chasing Saihara with a kind of desperation she didn’t know she had in her. Her heart sounds like a rush of water and a the skin of a drum all at once. Her chest is so tight.

She has to force herself to slow down when Saihara does, catching up to him easily even before he stops short in the hallway. Kaede resists the urge to snap it him- _The ringleader!_ And is rewarded for the barest smidgen of patience when she follows his eye down the hall and finds Chabashira and Amami knelt down by a sleeping H1M1, saying something she can't hear over that godawful music.

(Part of her is horribly relieved to see them- three people who _aren't_ dead or vindictive. The other part thuds painfully in her chest and thinks of everyone who isn't there.)

"What's wrong?" she asks, hurrying over.

Chabashira looks up, her expression panicked. She's knelt over H1M1's side, her left arm lying in her lap- a panel of skin opened up to access the wires in it. Kaede can see the charging cord winding down from around the base of the robot's neck.“Himiko-san ran out of battery- she was on lookout duty, and she said she was feeling tired, but, oh, I’m just trying to charge her.”

"It'll be fine, Chabashira-san," Amami says, soothingly. He looks up at Kaede, and Saihara, as he jogs up to join them, and smiles, but she can see the fear in his eyes. "At least she's resting."

"What are you all doing down here?" Saihara asks, the suspicion in his voice palpable.

Suddenly, there's a flicker, and Chabashira crows excitedly, and H1M1 sparks back to life.  
"We're gonna fight the Monokumas," she says, the words slurring a little. "We... won't let everyone die."

"Himiko-san!" Chabashira squeals, lunging forward to hug her. H1M1's cheeks seem to flush a little, even as she pouts.

"You were going to fight the Monokumas?" Saihara repeats, frowning. The dim light catches on the badges on his jacket. "Who?"

Amami stands up slowly, then offers a hand to the robot, him and Chabashira carefully helping her to her feet. "The three of us, Gonta, Momota-kun, Tojo-san, and Kiibo, I believe. Momota gathered us together and Tojo sort of took charge." He laughs. "She's much better at strategics than I am."

"Tojo-san is really brilliant," Chabashira sighs, gathering up H1M1's cord and the battery pack it's attached to, carefully bundling them together. "You guys can join on the strategy meeting, now! We should probably get back, it's getting really close to the-"

"The mastermind!" Kaede cuts in, her eyes blowing wide. She'd been so worried about the trio that she'd gotten completely distracted. She reaches for H1M1's arm and tugs her forward, pulling the others along with her. "Come on, Saihara-kun caught the mastermind!"

"Caught the what?" H1M1 gasps, but Kaede doesn't listen, can't listen, can only pull them all along as she storms forward, her heart beating at her ribcage, throttling her lungs, louder than the music playing, louder than their footsteps, louder than-

Kaede throws open the doors to the library, entourage at her back.

And she sees red on white on black on red. 

Pooled on the floor, cranberry juice, dark syrup, plum wine soaking into the floorboards. An oversized coat, neat button-up shirt- white fabric slowly turning red. Slip-on shoes and a shattered monopad and socks with tiny little constellations embroidered into them.

They’re lying on the floor, almost foetal position, curled up tight, slumped in the floor. They could be sleeping with their eyes open, face pressed into the wood, if it weren’t for the way their skull has splintered- the way that their white hair is slowly dripping blood.

Kiibo Idabashi’s bright blue eyes are still open, staring at the floor. Blood drips down their forehead.

Someone- H1M1, it must be, screams, and Kaede feels her knees go weak. Her hands feel hot and sticky suddenly- she can’t tear her eyes away, as much as she wants to, because she knows if she looked down she’d see them dripping with blood- she’d see the residue of that shotput ball sticking to her fingertips like tar, she’d see guilt stained all over her skin. 

That awful, repetitive song keeps playing, chirping in her ears. 

“Oh my god,” Amami whispers, and something about hearing the ever-calm Amami’s voice shake makes Kaede’s heart thud painfully against her ribs. “Kiibo…”

“Th-they’re okay, right?” Chabashira stammers, and her long fingers are suddenly clutching at Kaede’s sleeve, digging painfully into her arm. Instinctively, Kaede reaches up to touch her back comfortingly- her movements feel slow and frozen. There is a disconnect between her and her body that she’s never felt before.

 _I killed him,_ she thinks. _He’s dead because of me. Because of actions I took._

She sways sideways, facing his slumped body. She cannot look away.  
And neither can they, unfocused eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance. The longer she stares, the longer it feels like they’re looking right at her. 

_Are you the one who put us here?_ She wants to ask. _Was all that talk about hope and love a lie? Did you ever really want to reach the stars? Are you the one who did this to us? Did I stop you? Was it worth it?_

Maybe if she said any of that aloud, Kiibo might blink and sit up. Maybe their spirit would soak through the floorboards and shake the whole room in vengeance. Maybe his ghostly fingers would pull at the ends of Kaede’s hair.  
But she doesn’t say it, and they don’t move, and the two of them stare at each other and neither of them blink.

Drawn in by the scream, the others coming rushing to the library- Gonta, Tojo, Harukawa, Hoshi, all piling in through the front door. Not long after the others come pounding down the stairs and run in through the back. Each of them reacts with horror

“Th-this is so fucked,” Momota stutters, clutching at his chest. “Someone actually…. Killed him…”

“So the killing game really has started,” Shirogane murmurs. 

Finally, Kaede finds her voice. “N-no!” She stammers, heart in her throat. “No, it might have… ended.” She finally manages to drag her eyes away, hands curling into fists. “Because- Because Kiibo might have been the one behind this!” 

The music keeps playing. It keeps playing. Maybe it’ll never stop, now that the mastermind can’t stop it.

Stumbling over her words, she explains the situation to the others- the bookcase door, Saihara’s hypothesis, the dust, the cameras.

“So that’s what you wanted them for,” Chabashira says- she’s no longer clutching at Kaede’s arm, instead hovering just behind H1M1’s back- and once again, the robot seems a little bothered by her presence. 

Momota presses a hand against his forehead, looking like he’s physically struggling to get his thoughts together. “So, let me get this straight… Kiibo was the mastermind of all of this? And they were going to go through the secret door to get the Monokumas, and then… someone killed them.”

“So we’re safe now?” Tojo asks, folding her hands in front of her. “Just like that?”

“It’s hard to think with the music playing,” Shinguji murmurs, glancing up to the monitor. “It really seems designed to drive one out of their wits… Slightly discordant, high strings- a somewhat scratchy quality, piercing to the ear, and garbled…. I’m not surprised one was driven to kill under such an environment.” The laugh that tips out of his throat is dark and soft, like a snake shifting in the grass. “What music does to a human is such an interesting phenomenon.”

“Dude, just sh-shut up,” Iruma stammers, rubbing her arms. “This is…” 

  
There is silence among them, for a long, unpleasant moment. The song keeps going.  
And then it cuts off. The monitor flickers.

_"A body has been discovered!"_

Monokuma steps out from behind a bookcase like he'd been there all along, laughing. Without that awful music, it feels too quiet- his giggle seems to take up all the space in the room.

"What's going on?" Kaede asks, rubbing her arms. "Why are you still here?"

"Well well well!" It continues, not even looking at her. "And here I thought I was actually going to have to follow through on that little threat! I was getting excited, too... thinking about tearing you all to pieces. But this- this is definitely more fun. We have fourteen more chapters to fill, anyway." A paw comes to its mouth and Kaede, blood on her hands, spine trembling, skin covered in sweat, wants to lunge forward and crush it between her palms. "So! Who's our first volunteer? Who wants to claim their crime?"  
A silence in the room. Kaede doesn't think she _could_ speak if she wanted to. "Don't be shy," Monokuma continues. "Remember, there's no class trial for this one! You just get your ticket out, easy peasy! Say bye-bye to all your idiot peers and leave them to rot!"

Kaede bites the inside of her cheek so hard she can taste blood.

Monokuma's red eye glints. She thinks it's looking at her.

"Oh, I see how it is," the bear says, its voice somehow lower. "Yes, yes, yes, I see! Someone _wants_ to do a class trial! They're not in it for safety or escape! They're in it to play the game!"

"A- a class trial?" Gonta asks, his voice hushed and hurting. Kaede's stomach twinges.

"Well then!" Monokuma claps its hands. "Let's let the investigation period commence! You have one hour before I call you to the courtroom. During this time you may collect and destroy evidence, commit more murders, lie, infiltrate, gossip, say your prayers, and prepare for the trial ahead!"

Immediately, Angie plops down onto the floor and crosses her legs, bringing her palms together and humming softly. She closes her eyes and tips her hair back, and Kaede thinks about how similar prayer and meditation are.   
She wonders if any god would answer her now.

"Just remember!" Monokuma says, its voice grating through the air. "Vote correctly, or die!"

_Die._

The bear disappears behind a pile of books, all cartoonish proportions- like it slips in and out of reality. The rest of them are not so lucky, left standing in the damp library with the taste of mould and blood in the back of their throats. Kiibo keeps staring, the slow drip of his blood from his hair to the carpet. It feels like the roots that creep through the wood here might suddenly reach out, tangle through Kaede's pigtails and force their way through her scalp. Is Kiibo's head hollowed out? Did the shotput sink into it for a moment or did it just slam down and bounce off? Was the death instant or was there a moment where they fell and watched themself fall and wondered what could have happened?

Did it hurt?

Next to her, Saihara is completely silent. She thinks of the story he told just a few hours ago. 

"A class trial," Harukawa murmurs. "Are we really going to have to go through with this?"

Sniffling, Ouma reaches up to mop at his eyes with a checkered handkerchief he managed to produce from one of his multilayered pockets. "My poor Beebo," he sobs, shoulders shaking. "My dear friend Fifo.... My poor sweet darling astrologer... Who could have done such a thing?"

"I fucking bet this was you," Iruma snarls, suddenly advancing on him with her sharp nails. Ouma squeals and backs up, stumbling over several books as he continues to cry, making quiet but still somehow overdramatic protests. "You little sneaking shit, you crept down here and you killed him-" She cuts off abruptly, looking down at her torso. When Kaede follows her gaze down, she freezes, watching Ouma jab his red-handled knife against her stomach- gently, almost playfully, not hard enough to cut.

Iruma takes a step back. He twirls it around his hand, whistling casually. 

"If we all come at him at once, we can get him," Momota says, only for Ouma to shake his head condescendingly. He stabs the knife into the cover of an open book and leaves it to balance there as he carefully wipes his eyes again- and then he blinks at them all and grins, with no trace of tears at all. Even his makeup is still in place.   
Kaede _knows_ he didn't do it, and she's still unnerved.

"Au contrere, my steroided friend. This is no crime of mine." His lip curls as he looks down at Kiibo's body, tucking his handkerchief away and pulling out the knife sharply. "This is so... messy. No class at all. Not even a calling card." He pauses, then snickers. "Besides, I'm not stupid. Why would I kill someone and _not_ take the chance for escape?"

"I hate to say it," Shirogane sighs, pushing up her glasses. "But he does have a point. Why didn't the killer take the chance?"

"Because they were the ringleader," Kaede says, pushing herself forward. The lie slips out far too easily for her liking- she almost believes it as she's saying it. The others look at her, and she tries not to let the trust in their eyes fill her lungs with tar. "They can't take it, because they want to watch us hurt each other! But they slipped up by letting us have a class trial. Because- because we can use that time to find them. To find the person behind this. And we'll all get out." Because if they don't-

Angie finally cracks one eye open, lowering her hands. "Mm, I see, I see. I see maggots nesting in Kiibo's skull- ghostly maggots, from before this school was destroyed! They say that god is sending a message... hm...." She closes the eye again, then opens them both and bounces to her feet, arms outstretched. "I've got it! God is telling us that the ringleader must have attacked Kiibo after Kiibo stumbled onto their secret hiding spot!"

Shinguji hums softly, playing with one long strand of dark hair. "I wonder how Kiibo found it."

"We shall find out," Tojo says, her eyes a little sharp. "We have only a limited amount of time, but I'm sure there will be enough evidence to link the story together. Particularly with a group made up of people as skilled as ourselves. I say we split up into smaller groups and begin our search separately, so as to cover the most ground."

"I don't wanna investigate," H1M1 whines. "I'm still low on battery!"

“Be quiet.” Hoshi’s voice cuts through the crowd like a dull blade in the grass, bundling them up into piles of wheat. The group turns to him as one, and something about his gaze makes Kaede shiver. The detective steps forward, moves over to the body, and snaps a picture of the corpse with his monopad. 

“What are you doing?” Angie asks indignantly, her voice losing some of its easy cheeriness. “You are disrespecting the dead!”

He looks up from Kiibo’s body as he takes another picture. “I’m investigating,” he says, simply. “You wanna die? Then I’ll stop. I don’t care whether I live or die. But if you want to survive, you’ll need to look around, too.”

“Where do we start.” Kaede’s voice comes out low, shaking softly. Her hands feel so heavy. Hoshi glances up at her, his eyes like flint.

“The scene of the crime,” he says.

\--

They gather the cameras, but Monokuma is quick to take the photos and promise to develop them. He swears on his honor that he can’t meddle with the evidence, but Kaede really doesn’t like him having the key to catching the mastermind in his grubby little paws. 

The class splits up fairly quickly, after that. Ouma disappeared with an awful comment about how Kiibo looked more attractive dead, and Momota and Shinguji followed closely- and then more and more, until all that’s left is Kaede, Hoshi, Chabashira and H1M1. 

And Saihara.

She feels guilty every time she looks at him- he’s grown so focused, hovering just behind Hoshi’s shoulder and staring down at the body intently, but she can see how he keeps fidgeting with his mask, keeps pulling the straps a little tighter.

“The Monopad tells us the basics of the crime,” the anthropologist murmurs, looking up from his to check with Hoshi. “The rules say it will withhold any information that gives the killer away, though. Hoshi-kun, does this check out?”

“Well,” the detective says, his tone gruff. “What does it say?”

“Victim;” Saihara reads. “Kiibo Idabashi. Time of death: 9:48 pm. Location: library. Cause of death: blunt head trauma.”

“Sounds about right,” Hoshi mutters, brushing Kiibo’s hair back from the wound with surprising gentleness. Kaede’s stomach turns. “It doesn’t give a murder weapon?”

“No, but that’s probably the shotput ball, right?” Kaede asks, gesturing to the ball that’s rolled sideways, tucked under the legs of a nearby table, covered in blood. 

Ha. She _knows_ it’s the shotput ball, even if it weren’t bloodstained, even if it weren’t sitting only a few feet away like a threat. She remembers the heft of it in her hands, the first initial rumble of it falling through the vents. 

Hoshi grunts in what’s probably agreement, then leans over and begins shifting through Kiibo’s clothing. 

Instinctively, Kaede bounces forward- Saihara’s hand lands on her shoulder, pushes her a little back. She bites back a protest. 

“Does he have anything unusual on him?” Saihara asks, quietly. 

The detective doesn’t speak for a while, continuing to pat down Kiibo’s body, folding his clothes back. Kaede hates watching it, hates watching him disturb the dead, but she bites her tongue. Eventually, he pushes himself to his feet and holds out something to the pair of them. 

A monopad, Kaede realizes, taking it into her hands. She turns it on, and blinks when she’s greeted with a glitched screen- tapping on it or pressing the home button results in nothing but a flicker of the cracked colors. 

“It must have been damaged when he fell,” she says, and something about the out-of-place, broken tablet makes a lump form in her throat. It’s the little things, isn’t it? The way she can’t stop staring at Kiibo’s fingertips. 

_Focus, Akamatsu._

“That’s not it,” Hoshi says, and she blinks, refocusing. “Look at what’s on the screen.”

“The basement map,” Saihara murmurs, hand against his mask. “But-”

“There’s no door,” Kaede breathes out, her fingers tracing over the flickering image. Because right there, right under those glitching lines and the hum of broken wires under the glass, is a simple, blank, floorplan- flat walls, empty squares, no bookcase door to be seen. “M-maybe it’s broken?”

Hoshi shakes his head. “Looks like Kiibo really wasn’t the mastermind,” he mumbles, cracking his back as he stretches. “God, I need a smoke.”

Kaede gives him a sympathetic smile even as he heart sinks. _So he really was innocent._ “Was there anything else you noticed, Hoshi?” 

He looks over her for a moment, his eyes black and unreadable. Then he shakes his head.  
“I’ll keep looking, though.”

“You do that,” Kaede murmurs, looking behind her as she shifts away- Saihara follows, close behind. It’s funny, how he looks more focused than nervous now. He’s surprisingly competent, really- he should have more confidence.

“I’d like to look at the bookcase again, if that’s okay?” He says, and she smiles a little wider- she can feel his ki, even if she doesn’t think she can feel her own. Saihara doesn’t seem to smile back, eyes too fixed on the bookcase as he moves ahead to shift it from its place. It moves just as slowly as before, dull and aching, and Kaede watches as Saihara steps back to gauge the distance from the body, to watch it open and shut. 

Then they check the security sensor, and Saihara’s face twists as he clearly thinks back to the moment where it went off. He pulls the receiver from his pocket and makes a face at it before he pockets it again, grimacing. 

Kaede pushes back every single feeling that chokes her up like ropes around her organs and gently guides him back from the door. 

“Come on,” she smiles. “Let’s go interview the others, okay? We can help Hoshi, like this.” 

Saihara follows, giving her a grateful nod. They move across the room- inventor tinkering with a collection of spare parts, robot soaking up energy from the wall. 

Kaede isn’t sure that she’s awake at first, but slowly, H1M1 blinks her eyes open and nods at them in acknowledgement.

“Himiko-san, you were on guard duty, right? Who did you see coming by?” Kaede asks, smiling gently at her. 

The robot still seems bleary, making an attempt to reach up and rub her eyes- but her broken wrist just flops awkwardly. “Um,” she says, slowly. “I came down with Momota-kun, Hoshi-kun, Tojo-san, Gonta-kun, Chabashira-san, and Kiibo.” She lifts a hand to point, seeming pleased with herself. “Momota-kun thought that my powers might be useful in a fight.”

“...Right,” Kaede says, laughing a little awkwardly. She’s pretty sure Momota meant robot powers and not ghost powers, but either way, it’s sweet. 

“They put me on guard duty while they planned,” she goes on, yawning midway through the sentence and tugging a little at her charging chord. (How does this old school have enough power to sustain a robot like her?) “I saw Kiibo coming out of the room a bit after the meeting started. When I asked if he was sabotaging our big plan, he said he just wanted to get a book on surprise attacks for the others- and then he went into the library, so I thought he was probably telling the truth. Plus, if he wanted to attack the meeting, he’d have to get past me or Gonta.”

“What do you mean?” Kaede asks, blinking.

H1M1 squints at her. “You can get through to the game room through the main hallway, where I was, or through the AV room- but Gonta was in there, watching movies. Or plotting, maybe.” She frowns. “I don’t trust guys with muscles.” 

That’s probably because she was raised by scientists, Kaede thinks but doesn’t say. Instead she just smiles, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “And then what? After Kiibo came down?”

H1M1 pauses. “I dunno. I think…. It was a while after that when I blacked out.”

Saihara nods, crossing his arms across his chest. “She was out when I came down. I thought she was sleeping, so I didn’t want to bother her- and I could hear Chabashira-san from inside, so I thought she would be okay.” He pauses. “Himiko-san, do you think it’s possible someone could have crept past you while you were out?”

The robot huffs, wrapping her arms around herself. She can seem so otherworldly at times, a miracle of technology- and then she can seem just like a petulant girl. “Of course. It’s not like I was sleeping, I was… out. The only thing that can wake me is being charged again.” She pauses. “I mean, my ghost powers still work, but I’m confined to this body, a-and it drains my spirit power, too, so I couldn’t leave the form or view anything around me.

“So someone could have taken advantage of your shutdown,” Saihara murmurs, quietly. “But there were others around, too…”

“I told Chabashira I was low on battery,” H1M1 mutters grumpily, tugging at the chord again. 

“Chabashira-san is doing her best to fix you,” Kaede reminds her gently. The robot just huffs, and Kaede figures they’ve probably gotten everything they will out of this conversation.

They move over to speak with Chabashira next, who confirms most of the account- but also adds in that she wouldn’t be surprised if Gonta was doing something dicey, and that she didn’t trust any of the other degenerates, either, for the record. She thought Kiibo was being a coward, leaving for a book when they did, but it was better than Gonta who shut himself up and wouldn’t talk. Tojo left to go and try to get through the other door, at one point- but Tojo-san is too nice to murder. She says all this while fiddling with what looks like the bones of a helicopter- and then, mid conversation, sends it up into the air. 

“What’s that?” Kaede asks, curiously. The inventor flushes a little, fiddling with the knobs on her remote and causing the creation to fidget in the air.

“It’s a drone, Akamatsu-san,” she says, surprisingly shy. “Iruma-san said it would be a good idea to get some different angles of the crime scene- this way, I can get high and low angles and some shots of the whole room without all the bookcases in the way! She’s really clever, even if she’s really rude, Iruma-san. She must know so much about photography from her cosplay.” 

Iruma and Chabashira are a little similar, Kaede thinks- although one of them is incredibly polite and the other is crude beyond words. She thinks Chabashira might faint at some of the stuff Iruma says.  
(inane chatter in her brain- there’s nothing thoughtful in these observations. are her hands still leaking blood?)

They go to meet the others out in the hallway, next- Momota and Amami and Tojo, speaking to each other in soft tones. Kaede feels mildly intimidated, approaching their tall forms and low voices, but Tojo’s smile puts her a little more at ease. 

Once again, they confirm everything- and Momota offers to accompany her and Saihara through to the AV room to question Gonta. 

“Angie is there with him, I think,” Amami says, rubbing at the back of his neck. And then, “hey, it’ll be okay.” Kaede starts a little, and he smiles at her like she was caught shaking in fear of the dark. 

Tojo, too, steps forward and bows her head. “I have faith we’ll get through this, Akamatsu-san.”

“Y-yeah!” Kaede agrees, pumping her fists. “We’ll make it through! We just have to catch the mastermind- and it’s fifteen against one! They don’t stand a chance.”

“Fourteen,” Saihara murmurs.

The energy deflates a little after that.

They go and inspect the AV room, question Gonta and question Angie and stare at the folding screen and the doors between the room and the library, and Kaede knows that the others are looking for Kiibo’s killer more than they’re looking for the mastermind- but Kaede also knows that those two people are _not_ the same. She knows Kiibo wasn’t killed from the AV room, but she also knows that it’s important to inspect every corner of the basement to see if the mastermind did anything to give themself away. Even if she knows exactly who the killer was, she still confirms that Tojo came to speak to Gonta, to knock on the door from the outside. Because maybe, maybe Tojo did something else, even if she can’t… imagine it.

Gonta and Angie are both as helpful as they can be, unsettlingly cheerful despite the atmosphere. 

“Angie was upstairs with the others,” she chirps, clapping her hands together. “Let’s see, I think it was…. Angie, and Kiyo, and Miu, and Maki, and cute Tsumugi! She wanted to serve us one last meal before we died, and I wanted us all to repent for our sins! How lucky we are, to have more time to be forgiven- because I do not think Kiyo is getting to heaven, at this rate!”

“Wait,” Kaede says, frowning. “You say…. You, Shinguji-kun, Iruma-san, Harukawa-san, and Shirogane-san… Was Ouma-kun not with you?”

Angie tips her head to the side, lips pursed innocently. “I haven’t seen him all day!

Saihara and Kaede glance at each other.

They get out and speak to Momota, grits his teeth and makes fists with his hands. “That little shit,” he mutters. “Do you think he’s the mastermind behind all this?”

“That just seems…” Kaede shook her head. “I mean, he hasn’t exactly been subtle about it.” Next to her, Saihara looks like he wants to say something, so she nudges his shoulder. 

“Ah,” he says, a frown clearing from his face as he glances up to Momota. “I was just thinking it was more likely he would be working on behalf of someone else. Assassins are contract killers, so… I don’t think one would have the desire or resources to set something like this up on their own.”

Momota grunts. “All I know is that he’s fuckin’ shady,” he mutters. “Talking about death all the time- If he’s the one behind this, that’ll be a weight off my shoulders.”

“Haha, yeah,” Kaede says, giving him a wave as they turn away.

Wouldn’t it be so easy if the assassin were the one who arranged it all? All wrapped up in a nice little bow of no morals. It’s so easy to hate someone with multiple sins.  
But aikido doesn’t see good and bad. It just sees people. And even if Kaede…. Even if she can’t call herself an aikido master anymore, she still wants to try to live by its principles. She won’t throw away her morals now. She might not like Ouma- she might find him distasteful, and frightening, and awful, but she. At the very least, she will look at him and try to love him, despite it all. Even if he was the one who did this. 

She’s already seen what lashing out against their captor will do. She doesn’t need any more blood on her hands.

While they’re crossing the hallway floor and heading to the stairs, Saihara stops suddenly and kneels down. Kaede glances over.

“What’s that?” she asks, quietly. 

He looks up to her, then stands, holding out a tiny object between them. Kaede leans in to squint, watching the light reflect off the metal, the way the plastic glints. “A bit of metal,” he says, quietly. “I wonder if… maybe it came off his monopad.”

“What? Didn’t we agree the monopad broke when it fell?” Kaede asked. 

Shuichi shrugs a shoulder, reaching in his pocket for a notebook and tucking the shard inside. “Maybe it was H1M1, then? But I don’t think Chabashira would let her walk around shedding metal everywhere…” He trailed off, then shook his head. “Sorry. I’m just thinking about how he had his map open. It’s probably nothing.” Returning the book to his pockets, some greek letter embossed in gold on the front, Saihara turns to her again. “Let’s keep going.”

She’s not sure what he’s implying, but she nods and moves on anyway.

They find Shirogane about halfway up the stairs, carrying down a tray of tea. “For anyone with nerves,” she says, sweetly, as if making tea during a murder investigation is a very normal think. Somehow, she manages to dip into a curtsey even with one hand full of delicate cups overfilled with liquid. Kaede watches it slosh slightly, drip over the sides, and she wonders if Shirogane is more nervous than she’s letting on. 

Tea drips down the side of the tray as they question her. She rebalances it, one finger pointing skyward as she thinks up. “Well, let me see. Yes, it’s plain that Ouma-kun was nowhere to be seen for the whole day. But someone else disappeared too.” Her eyes go a little distant behind her glasses, lost in thought. “Yes, Harukawa-san, I believe. I had prepared a rather elegant luncheon, I think- cucumber sandwiches, blackberry cordial, red bean buns, gyoza, sourdough bread and balsamic glaze, sliced mandarins- and a buttered shrimp salad. I had already asked all of you about allergies, and I didn’t think anyone was weak to shellfish, but midway through the meal Harukawa-san got up and ran out. She wasn’t gone all that long, only a few minutes, but when she came back she claimed she’d had an allergic reaction. It was plainly disturbing!”

“Do you think she could have lied?” Saihara asks, quietly.

Shirogane smiles, bringing her other hand up to help balance her tea tray. “Perhaps she was slipping away to disguise herself, run down, and commit murder in the very small period of time she was away.”

Kaede laughs awkwardly, and Shirogane giggles, and Saihara frowns at the floor. “We should question her anyway, I think,” he says.

Shirogane bobs into another curtsey. “Of course. You two make a wonderful team.”

They redirect their course back downstairs and loop back to find Harukawa in the library, talking to Hoshi in a low tone. When Kaede calls out to her, her eyes flash.

“What,” she grits out.

Saihara apparently decides that he would rather let Kaede handle this one, and retreats back to murmur to Hoshi about something, fidgeting anxiously. Kaede kind of wishes he was still next to her.  
She explains the situation to Harukawa, who seems unimpressed, but obliges. 

“Alright, I’ll prove it,” she says, simply. “They didn’t finish eating, so there should still be some left. Come on.”

And Kaede follows her upstairs, and to the dining hall, and Harukawa grimaces as they approach the unfinished meal. Kaede does too, but for different reasons- there’s something so… off about it, a meal like this all laid out with delicate napkins and berries and jugs of juice. Cups of tea still half-filled, bread unbuttered. Red bean filling oozes out of a bun over the table and Kaede has to look away.

“Why didn’t you mention your allergy to Shirogane-san?” Kaede asks, fiddling with a teaspoon.

Harukawa huffs, sticking her hand right into a bowl of carefully arranged salad. “I forgot I had one. When I say I don’t remember my ultimate talent, Akamatsu-san… I don’t remember most of my life.” She withdraws a shrimp and regards it with cool eyes, holding it up to her face. “But bits of it come back to me, sometimes.” And with that, she takes a solid bite out of it. Kaede watches her chew, and swallow.

And then, quite rapidly, she watches a red flush spread over Harukawa’s face and throat, watches the skin begin to flake around her fingers. 

“O-oh my god,” Kaede stammers, forcing herself to look away. “Harukawa-san!”

“It’s alright,” she says, calmly. “I had to call Monokuma before, and he gave me antihistamines. He wasn’t happy about it, though.” She produces a pill bottle and pops two in her mouth, swallowing them dry. Kaede watches in mild horror. “Does that satisfy your need for proof?”

“Y-yeah, that’s okay,” Kaede says weakly, trying not to look at the rash coloring Harukawa’s collarbones.

Harukawa nods, tucking the pills in her pocket again. “I didn’t kill Kiibo. And I didn’t go into the basement at all today. Besides, I had the reaction before that group went down.”

“What? Then why did you eat the shrimp??” Kaede splutters. “You could have made yourself seriously sick!”

Harukawa just shrugs a shoulder. “It’s important that you believe me- you’ve got no way to verify the timeline, after all. I think I was the only one to notice them heading down- and you can’t just take people’s word for things, Akamatsu-san. You have no way to confirm anything I say, and you should remember that.” She regards her coolly, brushing back her bangs. “Is that all?”

“Y-yeah, thanks,” Kaede murmurs.

“Then I’m going to go and cover this up,” Harukawa says, and she leaves Kaede staring faintly after her.

When She bumps into Ouma on her way downstairs, it’s almost a relief that he isn’t covered in a rash- until he opens his mouth.

“Wow, Akamatsu-chan! You know it’s not safe to be wandering around on your own, right? You’ll end up like Kiiboy if you’re not careful!”

She scowls at him, but she can’t deny that a part of her wishes Saihara were here. “You’re one to talk. You’re the only one who doesn’t have some kind of alibi today, Ouma-kun. From what Angie and Shirogane-san said, you were alone all day.”

“Huh? But I was with Angie-chan allllll day! She must be lying!” Ouma puffs his cheeks out. 

Kaede resists the urge to flip him on his back- that’d probably just get a knife pulled on her again. “If anyone’s a liar here, it’s you!”

“Welp, you got me.” He shrugs a shoulder, seemingly indifferent. “Yeah, I was alone all day.”

“...And?” She prompts.

He grins at her. “And I guess I don’t have an alibi! But that doesn’t mean I’m really guilty this time, y’know. I promise I didn’t do this one! I definitely didn’t kill… uh, what was its name again?”

“Don’t call Kiibo an _it_ ,” Kaede barks, genuine anger bubbling in her chest. 

“Right, Kiibaby!” Ouma snaps his fingers at her, all cheerful smiles. “Sorry, I mix them up with the robot all the time. He’s just so stiff and awkward, you know?”

Kaede does not dignify that with a response. Instead, she turns on her heel and storms away, before she really loses her temper.  
Ouma’s snickering echoes in her ears.

It’s a good thing they’re already upstairs- because just then, Monokuma pops up again, directing them all to come and look at the photos. Kaede’s heart is in her throat.  
Everyone is talking about the killer, Kiibo’s killer, how they’re going to find the killer, but all Kaede can think of is the mastermind. She wants to see their face. She wants to see them turning on those security sensors, wants to see them lurking behind Kiibo, pushing him into the trap.

But they’re not there. They check the photos, one by one, and they’re not there. Each group, entering- those who came first, and those who flooded in later. Kiibo, peering around the room. Kiibo, reaching for the camera, eyes lit up by the flash. 

“I don’t understand,” Kaede says, blankly. “They’re meant to be here.”

The others say something- there’s arguing, someone shouts, someone says something like it’s hopeless, she can hear Ouma laughing again. She keeps shuffling and reshuffling the photos, like there might be anything more in them- the corner of a coat, or the ends of someone’s hair, or even just an unrecognizable hand. But there’s nothing. 

And there’s no further time to debate it, because then there’s Monokuma, and he’s directing them all to the courtyard, and then to the shrine of judgement, and to the elevator, and Kaede is holding the photos that no one else seems interested in any more, and she’s thinking of Kiibo, and all she can do is let Saihara lead her forward.

\--

So it was really happening. A class trial. Here they all stood- fifteen, odd in number- soon to be either even again or to be one, alone. The atmosphere is like nothing she’s ever felt.

The elevator feels like it could be sinking right into the core of the earth. They go deep enough that her ears start to feel funny, that the air grows damp, and then they keep going. It feels endless.

She could feel Saihara almost melting next to her. He walked around like his brain was weighing him down, like even right now all he could do was think and overthink until he fell apart. 

The elevator rumbled around them, a dull whirr shaking through the air, an undertone to the sound of her heart pounding. Kaede watched her own breath in the chilled air- steady, in, out, trembling like a butterfly on her lips. She was meant to be strong. She would be strong. She wouldn’t let Kiibo’s death be in vain. 

"Saihara-kun," she said, and when his dull eyes flicked over, she smiled and took his hand like the very touch didn’t chill her with guilt.  
"I'll be on your side till the end of the line, okay?"

Saihara’s eyes flicked to her, and now she could feel him trembling, the way his palm shook in hers. He said nothing, but she saw his mask moving like his lips were forming half a word.

“I used to get really nervous before my matches,” Kaede murmurs, curling her fingers around his. “It wasn’t just performance anxiety, I was… scared, that I might hurt one of my opponents. Things go so quickly- it doesn’t take much to send someone falling out of your control.” She lets out another breath. The blood on her hands drips through their linked knuckles. She can feel it, if she stops, if she thinks too hard. She won’t let herself. She can’t think about Kiibo, not now. When it’s all over, when they’ve caught the ringleader… She can take the time to mourn, to apologize, to seek repentance.

Right now the best thing she can do is find whoever did this to them. 

“Akamatsu-san,” Saihara whispers. 

“My mama told me something,” she says, and she smiles, because if she doesn’t smile, she’s going to start crying. “She said that half the battle is with yourself. You just have to let yourself connect with your mind, and… forgive yourself. And know that whatever the outcome, you’ll have done your best.” She looks away from him, forward to the doors of the elevator, because his eyes are a little too much right now. They look too much like gold, like judgement. “I know you’ll be able to do it, Saihara-kun. You’re really clever, and you watch people so carefully… I know you can figure it out.” Just for a moment, she lets herself shut her eyes, catch her breath. If they don’t… if they don’t catch the mastermind, then they’ll catch her. And Shuichi…  
It’ll be good for him, she thinks. She knows he can get over his fear. She just wants to show him that he can do it. That he can speak the truth without hiding from it. And whatever happens… she’ll never resent him. It won’t be his fault. How could it be? She needs him to do this. 

The second Kaede made up her mind to kill, she lost her ultimate title. She can no longer call herself an aikido master.  
And she thinks the part of her that had the strength to confess died at the same time Kiibo did. 

“I trust you,” she says, smiling even as she looks ahead, confidence she doesn’t feel. “I know if anyone can bring him justice, it’s you.”

“We’ll do it together,” Saihara says, squeezing her hand back. His voice is quiet but steady, even under the hum of the elevator.

Kaede can’t bring herself to look at him.

“Together,” she repeats.

\--

_One evening before that awful motive was given out, Kaede was walking back from her talent lab. The sun was setting, lighting everything in a lovely pink that stretched right to the buildings glowing in the distance._

_There was a figure sitting in the center of the courtyard. When she approached, they looked up, their eyes glowing._

_“Akamatsu-san,” Kiibo greeted, patting a patch of grass next to them. “Come and sit.”_

_Bemused, she’d followed their instruction- Kiibo could be bossy when they felt like it, firm in their opinions and beliefs and yet equally shy and thoughtful. She’d already decided she liked them a lot._

_She crossed her legs as she sat, laying her hands in the folds of her skirt and looking over at them. “Stargazing?” She asked, tilting her head up to follow their gaze up to the sky._

_They nodded, a smile settling on their face like it belonged there. “The constellations are… wrong,” they said, still smiling just as contentedly. “But they’re still beautiful, aren’t they?”_

_Part of Kaede wanted to question them further- what was wrong about the sky? She couldn’t really notice anything unusual, especially not now, when it was still light and only a few stars were visible, twinkling behind a layer of cloud. But everything had been dusted over with the sleeping sun, and her limbs ached from her earlier training, and she was ready to sleep._

_So she just smiled back, lifting a hand to point. “That one’s pretty.”_

_“Venus,” Kiibo said, shifting back in the grass. “Not really a star, but it looks like one from here. There’s a reason it’s named after the goddess of beauty in Rome.”_

_“You should talk to Saihara-kun,” Kaede laughed, picturing the serious expression on her masked friend as he explained enough about the cultural significance of Venus to make them fall asleep. “He probably knows all sorts of stories about the stars- although maybe you wouldn’t be interested in that. I don’t think they’re very scientific.”_

_Kiibo shook their head, a shock of white hair falling into their eyes, and glanced away from the sky to beam at her. “No, I love stories about space. It’s why I started studying it, actually.” They paused for a moment. “I was adopted, pretty young, by a professor of robotics. He was a pretty distant relation, but he was all the family I had left, and he was kind enough to take me in.” The smile that spread across Kiibo’s face was fond beyond words, sun melting his mouth as his eyes creased, looking somewhere Kaede couldn’t see. “He wasn’t really good with children, though, you see, and he didn’t exactly know what to do with me. But he raised me as best as he could- he read me academic papers before bed.” They laughed._

_Kaede rocked her weight sideways, feeling grass tickle her knee. “I’m adopted, too! By my aunt, but- I call her my mom.” She paused for a moment. “I think a lot of us live with people who aren’t our real parents. Isn’t that odd?”_

_Kiibo hummed. “I once heard someone say that an ultimate has to be carved out by circumstance- like we’re placed into the right places at the right time. Or displaced, maybe. Put a little out of order. I don’t think it’s true, though.” They shook their head again. “A-anyway, my father, he- He used to read me these old academic papers on robotics, and I tinkered with spare parts for my toys. But there was this one book… A collection of myths from around the world. I think one of his friends wrote it. And I remember… so many of those stories involved the stars. The illustrations were so beautiful- when I couldn’t sleep, I’d cry until he took me out to see the sky. I worked with him to make robots, but… everything I created was designed to get to space. I might not have been there myself, yet, but my creations have. And one day, I’ll follow. I’m the ultimate astronaut, after all.”_

_“That’s so sweet.” Kaede bit her lip to keep her smile down, shuffling over to bump their arms together. “I bet you were a cute kid.”_

_“I was,” Kiibo said imperiously, and seemed a little confused when she laughed._

_“Is it bad if I say I’m glad you’re here with us?” She asked, smiling sheepishly. “Your positive attitude, your cleverness- It’s nice having you around.”_

_Kiibo pushed their fingertips together, glancing away. Maybe it was the pink light of the sunset, but she thought their cheeks had flushed. “I- whether or not it’s bad, I’m glad to hear it. And… Akamatsu-san. I’m glad you’re here, too.” They looked up again, red faced, smiling. “I trust you when you say you’ll get us out of here.”_

_Kaede reached over to squeeze their hand. “We’ll all get out of here, together.”_

_“And then we’ll all be friends, right?”_

_She laughed. “Right.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> class trial next chapter. rip astroboy they were too pure for us. too good. i promise they will be avenged. (maybe.)
> 
> ily guys drink water don't murder good luck if any of you have exams you'll do fine!!!!


	5. double bluff.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaede blinks back tears. She laughs, a little high in her throat, the sound muffled. A strong voice should carry clearly, filled with ki. Filled with energy. Where has all her spirit gone?  
> Aikido says you should never attack. In a battle, Kaede is prepared to lay down her life to guarantee the safety of an opponent. But this isn’t a battle- not her sort of battle, anyway. This is. This is some sick game she never learned to play, too busy training to hang with the other kids, and she’s not the only piece on the board. Kaede is happy to give up her own safety. She’d do so willingly, and she’d smile while the monokumas tore her apart if she knew the ringleader was safe intead. But she doesn’t know if she can give up everyone else’s lives in the same way. 
> 
> Is pacifism pacifism if it still leads to more death?  
> “I guess,” she says softly. “I wanted you all to live more than I cared about my philosophy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh also sorry if there are any scenes in here that. don't complete properly or chunks missing. im struggling w/o my scene breaks and idk what to tell you if you think i PROOFREAD these. i finish 4/5ths of a chapter i drag out the last chunk in the middle i didnt want to write as long and as miserably as possible and then i cut it down as short as possible, know i did a shitty job, and post it anyway because after i hit over 13k words my brain decides im done.
> 
> also this is SO dialogue heavy im sorry. i hope it was still entertaining somehow.
> 
> ALSO ALSO: warnings for gore tm during the execution and mild emeto mentions after it. it's Gross

The elevator opens into the trial room and immediately the atmosphere sinks into something between funeral and rave.

(Not that Kaede’s been to either, but it’s the closest thing she has to compare it to- the lingering sense of death in the air, sullen silence between the people hanging back in the elevator, and the flash of colored lights and pulse of music like they’re building up to bass drop any moment.)

Kaede and Saihara exchange nervous glances as they move to the podiums with their names outlined- across the room from each other. Of course. Can’t let them get too comfortable. Can’t give Kaede a hand to reach out to. Instead, she’s trapped between Shinguji and Chabashira, one of them bouncing with restless, urgent energy, the other all composed silence and sly smiles, talking to her calmly about some composer and smiling like he finds this all absolutely fascinating.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalright!” Monokuma sits above them, like some mockery of a god, an idol to worship out of fear. Kaede refuses to give in, lifting her chin to stare up at him with a confidence she’s forcing herself to feel. “Welcome to the very first class trial of your killing semester! Are you ready to play judge, jury, and executioner?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Iruma barks at it. “We’re not here to play your stupid killing game- we’re here to catch the ringleader. Right, Bakamatsu?”

Kaede smiles at her, watches the way a little of the tension in her shoulders drops back with the reassurance. “Right.”

“You have three hours,” Monokuma sings out. “If you haven’t come to a conclusion by then- too bad! The voting period will commence anyway. The rules are simple. You find out whodunnit, you vote for them! If the majority votes correctly, the blackened is punished and the spotless go back to school. If the majority vote _incorrectly,_ the spotless are punished and the blackened go free!” It pauses for a moment, holding a paw to its mouth. “....I’ve gotta stop saying ‘majority vote’. It’s giving me a weird sense that I’m triggering some fanboys.”

“If you call us ‘ya bastards’ I’m just going to vote for myself,” Ouma drawls, trailing a finger over the top of his pedestal.

Tojo frowns over at him. “Could you take this seriously for a _moment?_ You heard him, we’re on a time limit.”

“Oh, Tojo-chan,” Ouma says sweetly. “I’ve never taken anything seriously in my life.”

“Emotional avoidance tactic,” Saihara murmurs, and then immediately shrinks away from Ouma’s piercing glare.

“Okay.” Kaede takes a breath, summons whatever lingering remnants of her ki are still trembling in her stomach, and lets it out. “Guys, come on. We can’t devolve into fighting. We’ve got to get to the bottom of this, right?”

“We’re all going to die!” Shirogane stammers, clutching at her face. “This- this is an unsolvable case, we’ll never find the mastermind like this!”

“We already found the ringleader,” Angie chirps, swaying from side to side. “Kiibo was, right? That’s why he knew where the hidden door was.” Kaede watches her like an opponent- her movements are fluid, her words cleverer than they seem. She’s too forceful, though.

“Then why the fuck is the game still going?” Momota asks. 

Chabashira chews at her bottom lip, pulling her goggles down from her head and letting them fall against her chest. She has the same problem- too out of control, too bold, hesitant about what matters. “Well the ringleader would have to be controlling Monokuma remotely, right? Monokuma’s…. Probably just an AI. So maybe the game is programmed to continue even after their death?”

“Why would they program that in?” “What’s the point of a killing game they can’t witness?”

Saihara moves a hand to his mouth, and Kaede watches the movement- slow, unsteady. It’s good to watch your opponent in a match- it’s vital too, actually, but too much hesitation will trip you up. Saihara doesn’t like to act without his actions being supported by someone else. (Kaede’s chest twinges when she thinks of him working without a partner.) “Some killers,” he says, softly. “...It’s not about any personal gain. It’s more about the legacy. Fame, and people remembering them. They don’t mind if they get caught or killed as long as they leave a mark.” His eyes flick over to Kaede, and then he blinks. “But, uh. Kiibo wasn’t the mastermind.”

Kaede’s trained in combat with partners, how to be aware of your allies and to protect them as you protect yourself. If Saihara is overextending a leg to carry an enemy, she’s sinking down to catch them and help them roll down.

She closes her eyes. _There’s an answer here._ “Kiibo is- wasn’t the mastermind. Hoshi-kun checked through his belongings, right?” Across the trial room, the detective gives a sharp nod. “Not only was there nothing unusual there, but his monopad was open- and the secret door wasn’t on it. There wasn’t a keycard on him, either. Kiibo wasn’t the mastermind.”

“So someone else must have hurt him…. and have told him about the door?” Gonta says, a little uncertainly, staring down at his own hands. Strong, slow and steady. Gonta isn’t stupid. He listens carefully to what he doesn’t understand- he’ll be good to come back to.

Iruma snorts. “Well, _I_ was upstairs eating pastries and waiting to die. What were the bozos downstairs doing?” She plants her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest like a bird trying to attract a mate. Kaede’s tussled with Iruma before- she knows she’s all bark and no bite, even now. “As far as I’m concerned, all of you are fucking guilty!”

Kaede jumps on the opportunity like she’s spotted an opening in a match, aiming for the weak part of her opponent’s form. “That’s wrong! The people downstairs stuck close together, and Himiko-san was on lookout duty before she ran out of battery- they can all account for each other!”

Himiko nods, sleepily. “I saw Tojo-san go to check on Gonta in the AV room, and I also saw Kiibo go into the library before my MP drained.”

Amami nods, leaning forward to gesture with a hand. “And aside from that, none of us left.”

Tojo hums softly, turning to the side as if to examine them from a new angle. She’s a little sharper like this- Kaede thinks she would be a good fighter if she ever chose to pursue the path of the warrior. “If our alibis check out, would it be impertinent to ask the same of those upstairs? I know that Saihara-kun and Akamatsu-san were watching the classroom at the top of the stairs, but it still feels relevant to check. Was everyone accounted for?”

“Ouma-kun never showed up, and Harukawa-san left midway through the meal,” Shirogane responds immediately, leaning forward like she’s never been more eager to contribute. “But everyone else was there the whole time!”

Harukawa frowns, cheeks puffed out, as she tightens her pigtails. “I already told you, I have an allergy to shellfish. Both Akamatsu and Monokuma can confirm that for me.”

“Y-yeah, she definitely does…” Kaede trails off, wincing a little at the memory of the rash that probably lies under Harukawa’s concealer. 

“But Ouma-kun wasn’t present?” Amami asks, resting an elbow on his podium.

Ouma glances up from where he was midway through painting his nails, hand spread over his stand. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I was busy.”

“Is that mine…?” Shirogane mumbles, staring over at the purple shimmer. The smell makes Kaede’s head hurt a little.

“Busy with what?” Angie asks, clasping her hands to her cheeks. “Were you out killing? That’ll send you right to hell, you know!”

Ouma lifts a hand to blow on his nails delicately. “Oh, noooo,” he says. “Killing people sends you to hell? Whatever shall I do~?” He lifts his head to give them all a sharp grin, curling and flexing his fingers. “Besides, I already told you. I’m not dumb enough to make a move this early in the game. It’s no fun to end a game so fast, you know?”

“I say he did it,” Momota growls.

“Gonta agree!”

Kaede forces herself to focus on her own heartbeat, to try and slow it again. It feels like it keeps speeding up with every pulse in the music. “Guys, focus. Ouma-kun couldn’t have done it, remember? Saihara-kun or I would have seen him coming down the stairs- and there’s the cameras, too.”

“Oh,” Momota says, his brow furrowing. “Oh, yeah, the cameras.”

Ryoma clicks his tongue, crossing his arms. "So the alibis are irrelevant until we figure out how and when someone could have entered the library without detection."

"Well," Tojo says, glancing over to Amami and Momota. "Gonta was in the AV room, wasn't he?"

And so the trial begins. _Taninzudori,_ defense from multiple attackers. When she thinks of the debate like a battle, it's not so hard to navigate- Kaede watches for weak points in the other's statements, springing on contradictions when she hears them, turning the flow of the conversation with her own words, clinging to the points of evidence she's stacked in her head like they're her basic techniques- first, second, third, rolling with the weight of the conversation and trying to pretend she isn't hyperaware of the time limit, stretched out by her own overambitious goals. _The ringleader,_ she thinks, her knees bouncing like she's rolling through a fight. _We just need to find the ringleader._  
They accuse Gonta, and she points out that the AV room door could have been propped open, and everyone turns to the gentle giant and watches him stammer, and Kaede, who _knows_ it wasn't him, scrambles for a reason why- the moving bookcase, the case.

Then she points out the photos as evidence of the bookcase's position, and Saihara inhales so sharply that she can hear it across the trial room.

She tries to catch his eye as Chabashira and Amami bicker over some minor detail about the lighting, but he fixes his gaze on the floor and remains resolutely quiet.

Kaede tries to continue on anyway, only a little disturbed. She glances between the others, talks about the layout of the room- and then, when talking about the cameras, Chabashira says "well, the only way to get past them would be to know about the intervals!"

And Kaede, who this means nothing to, just blinks. "Intervals?" She asks.

Chabashira nods, looking quite proud of herself as she pushes her fingertips together. "Yeah! I set it up so that the film rolled automatically, so that they could take multiple pictures... but the film still has to take its time to roll, because it's old, you know! S-so, the cameras have intervals between shots. I think it should be about thirty seconds after each picture, they're out of film." She fiddles with a wrench pulled from the breast pocket of her overalls, twisting the end of it. "So, you could get past them, but only if you knew about the intervals, and I only told Saihara-san!"

Hoshi looks over to Kaede sharply, and she can already _feel_ the sweat building on the back of her neck. "Saihara didn't mention this to you?"

Oh no.

"I- I'm sure he just forgot," Kaede says, smiling as genuinely as she can. "It wasn't really relevant to the plan, so-"

"Sounds pretty relevant to me." Harukawa's eyes are narrowed, leaning forward. Her eyes are just as heady as their wine-red color, and Kaede has to try her hardest not to look away.

 _Roll with the battle, Akamatsu._ "Well, we were together the whole time, anyway, so we basically serve as each other's alibi-"

"Not the whole time," H1M1 frowns. "You told me that Saihara-kun came down after I was blacked out."

God oh god oh god oh no. God. This is bad. 

"He came down alone?" Angie asks, tapping a finger against her lips. "Why would he do something like that?"

"He-" Kaede casts a desperate glance over at the anthropologist, but Saihara keeps his head stubbornly lowered, arms straight at his sides. "He wanted to go and see what the others were doing downstairs! There's nothing suspicious about it!

Tojo frowns, her pretty lips pressed together as she brushes back an elegant curl. "You must admit, Akamatsu-san, that the circumstance is... far from ideal. He was alone, after H1M1 had blacked out, with full knowledge of the camera intervals."

"And because he was the one with the security sensor, he could have switched it on and off," Hoshi adds, crossing his arms. "It also means that he could potentially be the one behind H1M1 going out, too. Or maybe he just took advantage of an opportunity."

"Saihara wouldn't do that," Kaede stresses. She looks over at him, punching her fists up encouragingly. "Come on, Saihara-kun! Tell them! Defend yourself?"

Still, he looks away, fingers twitching slightly. The mask doesn't move at all. 

"Saihara?" She repeats, a little more weakly.

"If you don't speak up for yourself, we're all going to vote for you, yknow," Ouma says, ultra-casually. "Got it? And if we vote wrong, we all die. So come defend yourself! Play the game properly!"

Gonta looks almost sympathetic, carefully adjusting his lapels. "Gonta forgive Saihara, if he did it. Gonta thinks.... it's better to confess, right?"

"It seems fairly obvious we have our culprit, mm?" Shinguji clasps a hand to his cheek, leaning into it. "My, my. And he likely would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for the reveal about the intervals- very well done, Chabashira-san."

"I don't take compliments from degenerates," she snaps back. "I knew he was up to something awful! I knew it, I'm never making anything for any degenerate ever again! Akamatsu-chan, you should have never let that security sensor out of your sight-"

She's speaking before she knows what she's doing. "I didn't!"   
The class all stare. Kaede flushes. "I- it completely slipped my mind, I should have mentioned it earlier. But- Saihara-kun left the security sensor with me when he went down! So he couldn't have turned it off!" She laughs, sheepishly, fiddling with her pigtails. "Sorry! I guess I'm a bit distracted at the moment."

Harukawa sniffs. "Do better," she says. "We could have all voted wrong because of you."

"Hm." Ouma lifts his newly-painted nails to admire them, and then sets his chin over his hands on the pedestal just slightly-too-high for him and grins, cheshire. "Except I think that Akamatsu-chan is lying."

She glares at him, fierceness of a bear. "I'm not lying. It's the truth. Saihara's innocent." That isn't a lie, at least.

"Then why isn't he speaking?"

Why isn't he.....

Kaede turns to him, slowly, staring across the courtroom. Her heart beats once. Twice. Three times.

“Saihara-kun,” She says, her entire body feeling hollow. “You know who the culprit is, don’t you?”

Slowly, he lifts his gaze to her, still utterly silent. It’s unbearable. It's itching, scraping, crawling up her spine. "Saihara," she repeats, softer now. "You can carry my wish on, can't you? You're the only one who can figure this out." Reassuring smile, heart beating her up inside-out, bruising her ribcage with every thud. 

Saihara's eyes flick up to hers, then around the room. He shuts them, for a moment, mask pulled high, eyes closed, his whole face shut off from the group.

"The most likely culprit," he says. "The most likely culprit of this case is... Akamatsu-san."

The room goes quiet for a moment. Kaede feels her heart shatter, as a laugh slips from her mouth.

"Don't be silly," she says, speaking without thinking. This will help him, right? He'll be bolder if he's forgiven for it. He needs someone to be kind to him. She can help, in this tiny way, before she goes. "Obviously I'm not the culprit. Does that really seem like something I would do?"

"He's losing his mind," Iruma says, flatly. "I knew it would happen. Only perverts and basket-cases wear their masks 24/7."

Amami's forehead creases, but he smiles encouragingly over at Saihara anyway. "Akamatsu-san is an aikido master, right? Being an anthropologist, you probably know all about that. They don't like violence, right?"

Saihara nods, stiffly, staring over at the magician like Amami is the only thing he can depend on. "I know. That's why I thought... I never would have guessed she'd do something like this."

"Akamatsu would NOT kill someone," Gonta says, hotly. "She's the one who wants everyone to be friends most!"

Kaede has never felt this awful in her life. She's also never killed someone before- and she almost can't tell which is worse, the guilt of the murder or the guilt of betraying her friends. 

Hoshi frowns. "No, hear him out," he instructs the others. "You can't rely on anyone."

How bitter. It's exactly what she'd hoped to avoid- but is he wrong? "Go on, then," she tells Saihara, casual smile, head tilted to the side, like they're chatting over a cup of tea. "How could I do something like this? I never went into the basement until I followed you, remember?"

Saihara inhales shakily, looking over to Hoshi for support. The detective gives him a stiff nod. "You didn't need to be," Saihara says, holding a hand up to his mouth like he's worried his mask isn't providing enough cover. "There- there's only three ways into the library. Through the front door, the backdoor, and... the vent."

"I stacked the books to try and block the vent," Kaede says, pouting almost playfully. It doesn't feel real. She's so disconnected from her body. No mastermind to catch, huh? She should have known this was the only place this trial could go. Violence begets more violence. A swift penance.

"Yeah," Saihara says, and even with the mask and hand on his face, the flash of guilt that crosses it is so palpable that it makes Kaede's knees weak. She wants to stop the charade now, tell him it wasn't his fault, call everything off, just break down and apologize, to him, to Kiibo- but she's got to keep going. For his sake. For the bare, tiny potential that they might coax the ringleader out of hiding. "Chabashira-san, can you show us those aerial plans?"

Eager to please, the inventor fumbles in her bag for a few moments, scattering bolts around her, before she fishes out a roll of paper. Helpfully, Monokuma lowers a projector from the roof with one paw, sipping a soda with the other. 

The aerial plans are scanned, then flicker into life above their heads, slowly rotating.

"It's.... stairs?" Gonta says.

"Leading to the vent," Saihara continues. He shuts his eyes. "The vent connects to the classroom upstairs as third and final point of entry."

Iruma snorts. "You're not saying she climbed through them while you were gone, are you?"

"She didn't need to." The pain in Saihara's voice is making Kaede's stomach twist up like a snake trying to eat itself. "The shotput ball."

For a moment, the sound of everyone putting the pieces together is almost audible.

Kaede twists her mouth up into a smile, like she's pulling together the last dregs of her tea leaves to drink again. It's steeped too long. The smile tastes bitter. "Nice work, Saihara-kun," she says. "You figured all that out so fast."

"Hold up!" Momota sounds equal parts frustrated and betrayed, and both ache just as badly, tennis ball bruises forming on her shins. "There's no way! For one thing, she'd have had to time it super well- and for another, Kiibo would have definitely heard a ball rolling down all those steps!"

Shinguji laughs, softly. His laugh has always made Kaede nervous and now is no exception. "Imbecile," he almost purrs. "Have you forgotten that dischordant melody so quickly? With the sound and timbre of that piece, Kiibo wouldn't have heard anything more than human wailing it was designed to mimic!" 

"Okay, can you not be a freak for one second-"

Kaede stares over at Shuichi, her heart in her throat. "So, that's it, right?" She prompts. He doesn't respond. "Saihara-kun. That's all there is to it."

"No," he says, his voice trembling a little. "No, there's more."

"No there's not!" Kaede laughs, like a jackal and a bag of gravel and nails on a chalkboard, the sound unbearable to her own ears. "That's all there is! I betrayed you and took advantage of your trap, and I betrayed the others, and I took advantage of their trust! That's all there is to it!" She spreads her hands out, open-palmed, and laughs again, wet, weak in her throat. Shameful. "And I killed Kiibo!"

"But why?" Angie asks, finger to her cheek. "Why would you do such a thing, Kaede?"

Kaede can't answer that. She doesn't want to linger in what she was thinking when. She doesn't want to be thinking about the motives of her past self.

"Saihara, you tell me," she says, and the latter part comes out a little too choked up. He still says nothing. He looks up at least, this time. That's something.

Why has Saihara gone quiet again?

Kaede is close to sobbing. Her ki is tangled, choking her throat, tangled through her ribs and up her throat and twisting around her soul like brambles. “Saihara,” she says quietly, looking over at him. “Go on, tell me.”

He doesn’t look away from her, but he doesn’t speak, either, his eyes shining and wet. Her heart twists.

“Saihara-kun!” Kaede bites her lip hard, one hand clutching at her chest, pulling at the silk of her shirt. “Tell me why! I’m definitely the culprit!” Why is he making this so hard? Why can’t he just say it was her? Why can’t he just throw her away! “Do you really think I wouldn’t do it? I did it! I killed him! It’s all my fault! Saihara, please, just-”

“Hmph.” 

Kaede tears her gaze away, looking to her left, and she’s met with Hoshi staring over his shoulder, not even looking at her- she can feel everyone’s eyes on her. Everyone but him. “H-Hoshi-kun,” she stammers, her throat wet and sticky.

He glances back over his shoulder, then down to flick ash off the lapels of his jacket. “You’ve got a ways to go- the both of you.” His eyes narrow. “Saihara, you’re thinking it too, right?” His eyes drift right past her, fixing to the right- part of Kaede constricts. Why won’t they scream at her? Why is no one hating her as much as he hates herself right now?

Saihara swallows, and the trial room is so quiet that it’s audible. “I…” he begins. From the distance between their stands, it’s impossible to see how his expression moves- impossible to see anything but his dull eyes, to pull any emotion from them as he stares at the floor. “I was just. If Kaede did it…”

“I did it!” She shouts back at him, shaking forward so violently that the tears on her cheeks go flying from her skin. “I did it, Saihara, I dropped that ball with my own hands, so just- just accept that!”

“Why was Himiko blacked out?” He asks, raising his voice. “Himiko-san was on lookout duty, and she saw Kiibo leave- It’s just too much of a coincidence to leave behind.”

Kaede twitches. “Hoshi,” she says, her throat tight. She can’t look at Saihara, can’t look at his faith in her, so she turns to Hoshi- measured, cool, Hoshi. He won’t cling to some kind of faith in her, right? “You’re a detective, I- I’m confessing, right now. You already figured out how I did it.” She bites her lip, pushes back a wave of bitter anger, because that’s her burden to carry, her… She doesn’t even sound like an aikido practitioner anymore. “Tell him,” she says. “A good detective knows that the simplest answer’s the right one, right?”

He looks over her, slowly. “A good detective also knows not to close a case too soon.” Hoshi sticks his hands in his pockets and leans forward, his elbow against the side of the pedestal. “A person on lookout going blank is nothing to overlook.”

“We’ve already established alibis,” Kaede hisses, bunching her hands into fists- the worst form of her life, curled too tight. She’d break her thumbs if she struck at anything like this. She’d hurt someone. She’s already hurt someone. 

“Akamatsu-san-” Saihara begins, and then cuts himself off.

H1M1 shifts in her stand, eyes lowered, pulling at the little ruffled fabric around her shoulders. “I’m sorry I did a bad job,” she whispers. 

“Himiko-san, it’s not your fault!” Chabashira jumps in, and for a moment, Kaede meets her eye- and Chabashira stares at her like she doesn’t recognize her at all. “I should have checked your battery better, we shouldn’t have put you out on your own, it’s Tenko’s fault!”

“Aka-” The class looks back to Saihara. He shrinks away.

Momota glances around, adjusting the coat on his shoulders. “I don’t get it,” he says. “Did Akamatsu do it or not?”

“There’s another point I’d like to consider,” Hoshi says, reaching in his pocket- for a moment, she expects him to pull out a lighter or a cigarette, but instead he drags out a lollipop and rips off the wrapping in a smooth movement. The detective sticks it in his mouth, rolls his shoulders back, and then uses the candy to point across the room, right at Kaede. “The wound itself. I didn’t want to reveal too much information in case the killer tried to lie-” a glance is cast over at Ouma, who wiggles his fingers almost flirtatiously. “But the placement is weird for the events we’ve described so far.” Popping the lollipop back in his mouth, he pushes it into one of his cheeks and continues speaking. “I’m not gonna try and classify the exact kind of wound, but if Kiibo was drawn over by the flash, his periphery should have been pretty blinded. He wouldn’t’ve seen the ball falling, and he wouldn’t’ve heard it either, with the music.”

“We already established this,” Shinguji says, elegantly trailing his fingers through his hair. The buttons on his tailored waistcoat seem to gleam like the edge of a knife. “That was how Akamatsu lured him in, and covered the evidence of her crime.”

 _Crime._ Law has been the last thing on her mind, in this place. But she supposes it’s true, right? She’s a criminal. A murderer.  
Maybe it’s a good thing she won’t survive this. How on earth could she ever look at her mother again?

“Right,” Hoshi says. “But his skull is cracked along his brow- he would have had to lift his head to see the ball, or something.”

“So… Kiibo saw the ball?” Gonta asked, quietly. “Does that have to mean…. It didn’t kill him?”

“It seems like a stretch,” Harukawa says, eyes narrowed. “Maybe he just did notice it, and lifted his head.” 

Hoshi just shrugs. “Or maybe something hit him from the front.”

Amami hums, softly, his expression conflicted. “It’s worth considering, though. We shouldn’t be so hasty to vote…. We need to consider potential flaws in the theory.” His tone, always soothing, drops into silence as he looks over to Kaede, and she can’t- bear it. She hangs her head, can’t look into his green eyes a moment longer, especially not when he speaks again. “I wouldn’t want to blame Akamatsu-san so hastily.”

“But _why_ would Akamatsu-san do something like this?” Tojo asks.

Something in her shatters.

“I wanted to stop the mastermind, okay?” Her head feels like it’s being drummed on from inside, her whole skull throbbing like she was the one with her brains knocked out by a shotput ball. _It’s all my fault it’s all my fault._ She doesn’t want to say any of this. She just wants them to accuse her and be done with it- she wants Saihara to be able to reveal the truth about someone without them falling apart. She wants him to blame her and send her off and she wants to smile at him so he knows it’s okay. She wants him to be able to carry her promise.  
But she’s crying now, even when she tries to smile. Maybe, selfishly, she wanted someone else to hate her the way she hates herself right now. Maybe she wanted her best friend here to look her in the eye and tell her that she is all the worst parts of the world, that she is greed and war and black, thick tar, blocking up her own veins.

“I wanted to stop the mastermind. That’s why I put the camera there, to lure them over. I didn’t think… I don’t know why Kiibo was there. But I thought, when the mastermind goes to release the monokumas, when the security sensor went off…” She lets out a breath, closing her eyes, searching for some momentary composure- but it flakes off in her hands, like wet paper, like she’s shedding all the pieces of herself over the floor. “I didn’t want anyone to die but it was the only option!” _Please hate me. Please don’t hate me._ “We… we were meant to all be friends when we got out of here! That’s why I set the trap. That’s why I tried to hide it. None of you would want to be friends with a m-murderer, so… So I lied. I was meant to kill the mastermind.” She blinks back further tears, voice out of control, somewhere above her and outside of her body. “I took advantage of your faith in me!”

“But… you’re an aikido master,” Shinguji says, tilting his head. “Surely this goes against your whole worldview?”

Kaede blinks back tears. She laughs, a little high in her throat, the sound muffled. A strong voice should carry clearly, filled with ki. Filled with energy. Where has all her spirit gone?  
Aikido says you should never attack. In a battle, Kaede is prepared to lay down her life to guarantee the safety of an opponent. But this isn’t a battle- not her sort of battle, anyway. This is. This is some sick game she never learned to play, too busy training to hang with the other kids, and she’s not the only piece on the board. Kaede is happy to give up her own safety. She’d do so willingly, and she’d smile while the monokumas tore her apart if she knew the ringleader was safe instead. But she doesn’t know if she can give up everyone else’s lives in the same way. 

Is pacifism pacifism if it still leads to more death?  
“I guess,” she says softly. “I wanted you all to live more than I cared about my philosophy.”

Everyone goes very quiet for a while. It’s like the whole courtroom stopped breathing.

Her throat goes thick, and she can feel tears slipping down again. “Saihara-kun’s plan was… really good. But it was just such a tight time limit, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to take that chance. I wouldn’t have done this if there was more time.” The faces of her companions blur as she shakes, and her whole body is out of control, trembling. “I didn’t want any of you to die!”

“Akamatsu-san…” Tojo breathes. Kaede blinks, and her face flutters in her vision, all gentle, earnest concern. She shuts her eyes again.

“This isn’t fair,” Momota says, and he sounds…. Genuinely pained. “She was just trying to help us, man… Does she really have to die?”

“Well, she fucked up,” Ouma says, casually, and the sudden snap of hatred Kaede feels is enough to force her eyes open. He meets her stare blank-faced, empty, like whatever’s puppeteering him just… stopped. “You played right into the ringleader’s hands the second you decided to kill. Too bad, so sad! Better luck next time.”

Kaede finds herself shaking, anger and guilt mixed into a kind of hysteria that makes her hands fix up tight. “How was I supposed to know Kiibo would be there? I don’t- he shouldn’t have been there! Kiibo shouldn’t have died!” His face flashes in her mind, and her stomach feels like it might twist in two. 

“Who’s to say there even is a ringleader?” Angie asks, looking almost dreamily over the room. “Maybe the door is just a secret we’re meant to figure out!”

“But the dust…” Gonta starts, and then stops. “Does- does Akamatsu-san really have to be… executed?” He asks, his voice trembling like a little bee in the wind. It knocks the breath out of her.

“It was her, right?” Iruma asks. Kaede catches her eye, and she thinks of gossiping with her like they really were just classmates, and flipping her on her back, and comparing their hair and their clothes. Iruma looks away. “I mean… If it’s not her, it’s us.”

“You have to vote for me,” Kaede says, voice stuck in her throat. “You have to. It’s what I want.” She tries to look to her left again, but the anthropologist is still standing, head bowed, mask high.

Shinguji folds his hands on the pedestal in front of him, the bandaged fingers tapping out a concerto. “Mm, so Akamatsu-san’s faith in us led her to act this way… How truly fascinating, that her compassion overcame her own worldview. And here we are, driven to punish the one who gave up everything to save us.” He throws up his hands, like there’s any bitter triumph to be found in this room. “I’ll write you a ballad, Akamatsu-san. You deserve to be memorialized in song!”

She thinks she might be sick.

“There’s no other choice, huh?” Amami murmurs, softly. “She’s confessed, and the evidence lines up. And everyone else has an alibi…”

“Not everyone has an alibi!” Saihara yells, suddenly. 

The sound breaks through the courtroom. Everyone turns to him, watches his anxious eyes flit from side to side, the way he fidgets with the badges on his coat. “Not… everyone.” 

“Don’t you dare lie for my sake,” Kaede says, lowering her voice. “Saihara-kun, don’t even try to blame this on yourself.”

“Himiko-san was on lookout duty!” He blurts out, all in a rush, his eyes hanging heavy over the mask. “Himiko…. She was on lookout duty, and she passed out, but… That means she was alone. F-for most of the evening. She…” He trails off, and the bob in his throat is visible even across the room. “She doesn’t have an alibi.”

All eyes turn to H1M1. She shrinks back.

“Himiko-san would never do anything like that!” Chabashira snaps, forearms bracing her over the pedestal. “You filthy degenerate, don’t say things like that!”

“It’s true, though,” Saihara says, his eyes squeezed shut, voice still rushed and muffled from under his mouth. “She was alone. And she… we don’t really know if her battery was drained, right? We don’t really understand enough about how she works.”

“To be fair,” Ouma points out, arms folded behind his head, ever-cheerful, “I don’t have one, either. It’s totally possible I could have crept down and bludgeoned his brains out while she was sleeping!”

“You’d have had to get past Saihara and Akamatsu,” Hoshi says, pulling at the brim of his hat. “One of ‘em was stationed in the classroom at all times. Stop throwing out red herrings.”

The assassin snickers to himself, raising a finger to his lips. “And our Himi-dere robot would have had to get past the cameras. How do you solve for that, detective?”

“Because she knew about the intervals,” Saihara cuts in, quietly.

_What?_

“Don’t be stupid,” Iruma snaps. “Chabashira said she only told you about them!”

Saihara shrinks back, eyes flickering sideways, to and from robot and inventor. “W-well, that’s true, but… Himiko-san was there when she did. I. I wouldn’t be surprised if she overheard.”

“Geeeeeee, why didn’t you say that earlier?” Ouma sighs, rolling his eyes. “Then you wouldn’t have had to have everyone accuse your girlfriend!”

“B-because I wasn’t sure if it was either of them, then. I- I was still trying to come to terms with Akamatsu-san’s plan…” His voice trails off, dripping down the sides of a table. Melted ice.

Kaede doesn’t know what to do with this. Her heart keeps thudding at her chest, shaking her up. She looks over to the pair- Chabashira wringing her goggles around her neck, H1M1 looking both terrified and confused.

“Chabashira-san,” Tojo says, gently. “Is this true?”

“N-no,” she stutters, staring at the ground.

“Some~one’s~ ly~ing~!” Ouma sings out, rocking forward onto his toes.

Chabashira’s face burns a brilliant scarlet- the flashing lights of the trial room shift in color and Kaede swears she can see sweat beading on the girl’s forehead. “I- I’m not lying! I- maybe Himiko-san was there, but- she wasn’t paying attention! It doesn’t matter, anyway, she wouldn’t do something like this!”

“If I may,” Shinguji says, folding his fingers together. “As a robot, it probably doesn’t matter whether she was paying attention. She’d save auditory data in her memory bank, correct? It might only occur to her again when it was relevant.”

H1M1 is trembling softly, pulling at the edges of her cape, shaking her head. “No,” she stammers. “No, I’m a good girl, I- my professor- I’m not allowed to hurt people!”

“H1M1,” Hoshi says, pointing at her across the trial room. “What happened before your battery drained?”

“No-nothing,” she stutters, her cute upper lip curling up like she might cry. “Honest! I just- I felt tired, and then I fell asleep, and when I woke up, Chabashira-san was charging me!”

It’s so unfair. Why are they doing this? Why are they dragging her into it?

“Stop it,” Kaede whispers. “Stop it, she hasn’t done anything. Those aren’t proof, they’re coincidences. I’ve already confessed.”

She shouldn’t be angry, but she is. She shouldn’t be drowning in rage but her whole body is shaking. “Don’t you get it?” The maple tree inside her has burned. There is no peace here, no art to make of it. “If we make the wrong decision, we all die!”

“So we need to review the evidence carefully,” Hoshi says, coolly, and Kaede wants to throw him into a tatami mat. “Don’t let your guilt cloud your judgement.”

“Himiko-san wouldn’t do this,” Chabashira insists, her voice raising in pitch and volume all at once. “She’s a good person!” 

“And… I think it’s because she’s a good person that she did this,” Saihara murmurs. “Or, a good robot.” He lifts his head, the shadows of his pedestal stretching out in front of him like the moon is sinking behind his back. “Are any of you familiar with the laws of robotics?”

Chabashira slams her hands on her table. “Rule number one is that a robot can never bring harm to a human being!” She shouts. “B-besides, roboethics is a lot more complicated than that! You can’t just dumb it down to a set of laws made for _sci-fi!_ ”

“But they are still relevant, right?” Shuichi challenges her. “They still apply, in the same order!” 

“What order is that?” Gonta asks, uncertainly, twisting his hands together. “Gonta…. Doesn’t really understand.”

Himiko sniffs once, then straightens up, her little shoulders straightening as she pulls herself together and lifts one artificial finger. “Rule one is that a robot cannot harm a human being, or through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. Rule two is that a robot must protect its own existence as long as that law doesn’t conflict with the first one. And rule three is that a robot must not prioritize human lives by any kind of prejudice except number.” She reaches up to rub her nose, and gives the group an almost shy smile that breaks Kaede’s heart. “The last one is more for self-driving cars, though… Oh, and there’s another law that kind of precedes them, but it’s not… really relevant to me. A robot can’t let humanity come to harm through action or inaction.” She pauses. “B-but, I’m a ghost possessing a robot, not a robot on it’s own, so! They only apply to my physical body…”

Angie purses her lips, clasping her hands in front of her. “It sounds like Himiko couldn’t have murdered anyone! That breaks the first law!”

“But not the third,” Amami murmurs. “‘A robot must not prioritize human lives by any kind but number… and a robot must not allow harm to come to a human through inaction.’ By that logic, she _could_ have killed someone, considering the time limit in place.” He tugs lightly at the edges of his cloak, pulling it closer around his shoulders. “If someone didn’t die, we would all be killed.”

Himiko shakes her head furiously. “No, I- I was sleeping! I couldn’t have done it anyway!”

“Himiko,” Harukawa says, her eyes narrowed. “Those laws take precedence over your AI, right?”

“I’m not an AI,” Himiko says, her voice dropping into something so quiet that it makes Kaede’s ears hurt. The black lines on her cheeks look more like tear stains than anything now. “I’m a ghost. I’m a real girl.”

Kaede watches as Saihara turns his gaze away from the girl, and she’s surprised by the amount of anger that rushes to her chest. “They probably would,” he says, quietly. “I’ve done… minimal research into that field of ethics, but the scientific field is held to high standards… and considering that she’s the ultimate robot, I don’t think her creator could avoid those laws.”

“I’m not a robot!” Himiko says, tremulous, sobbing. 

“Okay,” Shirogane says, tilting her head politely. “I understand that those laws would have made it possible for her to kill, but- that still leaves a lot of questions. Like… why wouldn’t she accept the motive? Why wouldn’t she just leave? And why wouldn’t she confess, either? If we voted wrong, we’d all be killed anyway.”

Hoshi snorts, pulling the lollipop from his mouth again. “Easy. I bet she can’t access the memories. A robot must protect its own existence, right? Her programming could’ve taken over while she acted, and then she really did crash- and her intelligence won’t allow her to access ‘em. She doesn’t look like she remembers at all.” He twirls the stick of the candy between his knuckles, looking at it thoughtfully. “I guess the only way to test the second part is to see if the memory would have kicked back in if we were about to vote wrong. There’s a pretty easy way to fix that.” 

“Oh?” Angie makes a soft, humming sound. “What do you suggest, Ryoma?”

Hoshi looks up, across and over the room. They all watch him with their breath bated. “Himiko. If we fuck this up, we all die.” Somehow his gaze grows in intensity. “If you didn’t do it, you won’t know who we should vote for. But if you did, you should know that we gotta pick you, right?”

“I-”  
H1M1 shrinks back, her eyes darting around furiously. Next to her, Chabashira looks like she might melt from anxiety.

“Himiko-san,” she whispers.

Himiko glances sideways, at Chabashira, and then over to Kaede. Their eyes meet.

The suspension through the court room is palpable. Kaede doesn’t think she can breathe, let alone look away. 

The robot shuts her eyes.  
“There’s a part of memory I can’t access outside of an emergency shutdown of my AI,” she says quietly. “It’s been blocked off to me since I woke up. I… thought it was because I crashed and lost it.” 

“No,” says Chabashira, clutching at her stand. “That’s a coincidence. That’s not- Himiko-san, no, it’s not-”

Shinguji places a hand against his mouth, his surprise almost mocking. “Oh? So it seems it really could have been H1M1, after all.”

Kaede keeps staring, still can’t catch her breath, still can’t look away. “That doesn’t- that’s not enough proof.”

“I have to stand with Akamatsu-san, here,” Tojo says, her pretty face creased in a frown. “Does it really seem more likely that Himiko-san would be able to avoid the camera intervals, wait for Akamatsu-san’s trap to distract Kiibo, and _then_ attack? It just doesn’t seem entirely likely. It would require great timing.”

“Not with the placement of the wound,” Hoshi says, pulling the now-empty lollipop stick from his mouth and tossing it over his shoulder to litter the courtroom floor. “She could have come at him from the front, or waited for him to turn. Frankly, the timing with the shotput trap would have been largely guesswork on Akamatsu’s end, anyway. It’s not too much of a stretch to say it could have missed. She was basing it off the sensor, not the cameras, right?”

“That’s not enough proof!” Kaede gasps, clutching at her chest. “This is all just guesswork!”

Ouma’s mouth curls up in a smile. “So we need to guess at the most likely answer, huh? How fun! Now the game is really getting exciting- I love an element of chance!”

“Shut up, you freak!” Momota shouts, fists pressed together. “We’ve gotta trust Akamatsu! We can’t just abandon her sacrifice!” He looks over, gives Kaede a thumbs up that makes her chest ache. “We’ve got you!”

“Are you fucking stupid?” Iruma snaps at him, slamming her palms on the pedestal. “You’re going to kill her if you vote for her! That’s not trusting!”

Gonta nervously pulls at his hair, shrinking back from the rest of them. “Gonta… doesn’t really understand, but he thought…. Akamatsu dropped the shotput on Kiibo? Himiko was sleeping!”

Angie’s laughter trickles through the room like sunshine. “Haha, how divine! What a true test between wills- did H1M1 save Kaede, or did Kaede save her? We can only hope!”

“I don’t feel comfortable guessing like this,” Amami says, shaking his head. “It seems unfair to pin this on Himiko-san. She hasn’t done anything to make us suspicious except be in the wrong places at the wrong time.”

“Are you stupid,” Harukawa says, flatly. “There’s a lot of funny little coincidences adding up here. Besides, you know how mysteries like this work.” Her voice drops off, suddenly, eyes darting to the side. “It’s never the first person you think it is.”

“The truth is,” Saihara says, quietly. “There’s enough evidence that we need to consider them both as suspects.”

“No,” Kaede says, her chest tight. “No, I refuse to accept that truth!”

Suddenly, above them all, Monokuma jumps up with a squeal. Startling, Kaede lifts her gaze- she thinks of Kiibo lifting his, staring up at his approaching death. She wonders if this is how he felt, in the last few seconds before she killed him.

“Oooooooh, sounds like you’re pretty split down the middle!” The bear squeaks- Kaede had almost forgotten the sound of its voice, just as grating and awful as that song it had shoved down her ears. “I’ve been waiting for this! It looks like it’s time for the trial grounds to split in two- with the latest technology, we are very proud to present the academy’s brand-new, very own, morphenomenal trial grounds!”

Ouma rocks up on his tip toes, bunching his fists up. “Ooh, ooh, here we go~!” He sings, as one by one, the pedestals spin, twist, and slowly…. Lift from the ground. 

A few people shriek in terror, and Kaede grips onto the sides of her pedestal for dear life as it swings across the courtroom, splitting their circle in two. She’s placed at one end of the line, and when she glances down, she sees the others standing by her- Tojo, Amami, Shirogane, Gonta, Momota, down to Chabashira. Across the room, the rest of the class sway in the air- she looks up, and her gaze meets Saihara’s.  
She swears she sees his eyes flash.

“Alright,” Monokuma chirps, somewhere in the middle of the two lines, still looking down on them. “Is it worth considering H1M1 as a potential killer? Negating team, you’re up first!” It throws a paw down at Kaede, and the music that’s been playing in the background the whole time builds into a frantic, pulsing mess of beat, like it’s just waiting for her to speak. “Akamatsu!”

“We’ve already decided,” she says, instantly. “The vote is essentially set- I did it, there’s evidence to support that I did it, and I’ve confessed. There’s nothing more to discuss.”

Saihara lifts his chin, even if his shoulders shake a little. “That’s wrong! New evidence has come into light, so we need to review the facts! A hasty decision will kill us all!”

Kaede glances down the line for support, ignoring the bubble of anger rolling in her gut. Amami meets her eye with a firm nod.

“The shotput trap is what killed Kiibo,” he says, hand outstretched across the court room. “Every detail lines up perfectly.”

Hoshi is quick to retort, flicking another lollipop stick over in his direction. “Not true. The wound on Kiibo’s head makes it more likely he was attacked from the front.”

“Himiko-san wouldn’t do something like this!” Chabashira shouts, waving a wrench wildly. “She’s a good person!”

“She’s a _robot,_ ” Ouma replies disdainfully, a finger laying against his smirk. “Shouldn’t you of all people know that she’s bound by her own rules?”

Shirogane tugs at her hair, looking almost distressed. “But what about the mastermind? Wasn’t Akamatsu-san trying to kill them? Why would H1M1 step in?”

“Are you fucking dumb?” Iruma spits. “The ringleader isn’t relevant anymore! H1M1 had to act as security for Bakamatsu, obviously!”

Gonta crosses his arms, stepping forward. “Gonta doesn’t understand why H1M1 wouldn’t confess, if she wanted to protect friends.”

“We’ve already established that she can’t access the memories after she blacked out,” Harukawa huffs, pulling at her pigtails. “She didn’t know.”

“What I don’t get,” Momota interrupts, slamming a fist down. “Is the deal with the cameras! H1M1 shouldn’t have avoided the intervals, if she really wanted to save us!”

Shinguji runs his fingers over the air in front of him with a slick smile. “Self-preservation of identity, no? If the memory is hidden from her intelligence, it’s possible that faced with actual evidence of her committing murder, her AI might break down- as Akamatsu-san has done, herself.”

“Then what, pray tell, do you make of the murder weapon?” Tojo asks, pointing up in the air, ever the leader. “Are you implying H1M1 had the strength to wield the shotput, and the opportunity to pick it up before Amami did?”

Angie sways forward, her arms outstretched. “Nya-ha-ha! Because Kiibo was hurt from the front, he could have seen her pick it up! Maybe she offered to help him!” 

“In such a short timeframe?” Tojo challenges.

“Thirty seconds is a lot of time for a quick kill like that,” Hoshi responds.

Kaede curls her hands into fists, lets the fire in her lick at her ribcage. “Just stop it, okay! I was the one who set up this whole plan! I dropped the shotput ball! I was the one who planned to kill him!”

“Yeah,” H1M1 says, for the first time since they all began arguing- and when Kaede looks over at her, her red eyes are glowing. “I knew.” 

“What?”

H1M1 raises a hand, points across the trial room. “I knew Akamatsu-san was going to do something bad! And if she did it, she was going to die!” 

“How could you _possibly_ know?” Kaede shouts across the court room, tears pooling in her eyes.

“You were talking about protecting us!” The robot replies. “And- and I want to protect you, too!”

“This is our answer!” Harukawa says, gesturing down to H1M1 with her eyes blazing. “We can’t vote now!”

And the rest of them chorus after her, and the music swells, and Kaede and Himiko keep staring at each other. 

She can tell she’s lost even before the pedestals begin to sink back down, even before the music dies down to a low pulsing in the background. She doesn’t even hang on as the podium lowers, doesn’t think she could move her arms. Himiko doesn’t move, either.

“Himiko-san,” Chabashira murmurs.

The girl squeezes her eyes shut, clutching at the cloak around her shoulders. “I… I remember thinking about how you were talking about how you needed the cameras, and I… I didn’t know what for. But- but sometimes I have this inner voice that speaks to me.”

“Inner voice?” Angie echoes, looking at her curiously. “Like the voice of god?”

Himiko shakes her head stiffly, then shrugs, then places her hands on her heart. A little smile crosses her face. “I… I don’t know what it is, but I’ve always just… thought it was a part of me, I guess. Like maybe it was the… the artificial intelligence that everyone keeps talking about, before I possessed this robot. And it told me Akamatsu-san was going to do something bad.” She lifts her head, looking across the room. “I- I ignored it, because I wanted to trust her, but when I was out on lookout duty, I kept worrying that… the bad thing was going to happen. And then I fell asleep.”

“Himiko-san, that doesn’t mean you did it!” Chabashira says, sounding close to tears. “Please, you just- maybe you just had a bad feeling before you fell asleep!”

Himiko bites her lip, turning away from Chabashira. The inventor lets out a pained sound as Himiko looks to Kaede again. “I… I still don’t remember. And I’m- I’m scared of what happens if we get this wrong. And I’m not a very smart girl… I’m bad at school and I clean my fingernails too much and I keep breaking my wires and making the professor… and… Chabashira-san… fix my joints, but I.” She shuts her eyes for a moment, making a shaky, whirring sound like she’s trying to steady herself through breath, like her fans are running artificial lungs. When she opens them again, she’s no longer smiling, her eyes shiny. (They look so real.)  
“Akamatsu-san, I want to protect you, too! The best outcome here is one where no more humans have to die. So, I- so I want to make sure we get the right answer!” 

Kaede holds her gaze. Somewhere, distant and far off, she can hear Chabashira whimpering. She wonders if the inventor feels the same way Saihara must have. 

Himiko’s gaze is determined, her brow furrowed, her little hands bunched into fists and held above her head- the same way Kaede does, sometimes. She is small, and pale, and she looks almost frighteningly vulnerable.  
Kaede breathes in, slowly. Himiko’s chest doesn’t move, but she can feel it anyway- that ki, the strength to push on. The good in her. Kaede recognizes a worthy opponent when she sees one.

She nods. “Okay.” Okay. “Let’s talk about the possible timeline.”

“Start at the beginning, then,” Hoshi says, biting directly into his current lollipop. “When did you set up the trap?”

Kaede looks across the room at Saihara. He says nothing, just watches her with those cool, glinting eyes. She offers him a smile. Under the mask, it’s impossible to know if he smiles back. 

“Saihara explained the trap with the cameras to me,” she says, softly. “I came up with… my plan, the night after he told me. The next morning, we went to see Chabashira and Himiko-san.”

Himiko nods, wrapping her arms around herself. “Chabashira-san was trying to fix my wrist again. Akamatsu-san and Saihara-kun came in, but Chabashira-san didn’t want to alter cameras for a boy. So Akamatsu made sure to tell her how important they were…. And my inner voice told me she was going to do something bad with them.”

Kaede winces a little at the reminder, but pushes on anyway. “The next day, we went in to set up the trap properly. Saihara-kun set up the cameras above the doors, but… I did the one in the bookshelf.” Everyone is looking at her, watching her list the details of her crime. She shuts her eyes for a moment, presses a hand over her heart. Funny, how she was more scared of this than she ever was of dying. She’s still so scared. “I also… rearranged the books on the shelf ahead. I said I was trying to block the vent, but really I was setting up a path for the ball to roll down.”

“And then?” Iruma asks, for once in her life looking more subdued than anything. “You guys went and waited in the classroom, right? Ha, all alone in there- I bet you got up to something reeeeeeally perverted!”

The joke falls flat, and the cosplayer pulls at her hair. Kaede smiles at her anyway, wrinkling her nose. 

“We went up and waited, and we talked for a while. Then we saw the group coming down the stairs.”

“We left the others about an hour before the meeting started,” Himiko nods to confirm, lifting one finger- she’s really bossy now, with this commanding attitude like she’s looking over an unruly class of students. “That was me, Chabashira-san, Momota-kun, Amami-kun, Tojo-san, Gonta-kun, and…. Kiibo.” Her voice drops off, suddenly, and the room shifts uncomfortably. “Um, we were there to plan a strategy to take down the mastermind. First I went out to sit in the hallway and be on lookout, and then I heard them talking about how Gonta went into the gameroom- Tojo came out to check on him, and Kiibo followed after her. They went to the library. And then… then I went out.” She shrugs a shoulder. “It just happens all at once. One moment I’m awake, then I flicker, and then I’m shutting down.”

Tojo folds her hands in front of her. “No one exited the games room after that,” she says, bowing her head. “Kiibo asked to go and collect a book on the layout of the school he thought might be useful, and none of us saw any reason to disagree. And we’ve already established that, without knowing about the intervals, none of us could have entered the library without triggering the cameras- and that Gonta could not have thrown the shotput from the AV room.”

“So, Akamatsu?” Gonta asks, gently, looking torn between the choices in front of him. “What happened after that?”

“Well…” She takes a breath. “After that, Shuichi went downstairs. It wasn’t too long after they’d all gotten in there, so not much time had passed- but he said that Himiko-san was already asleep before he got there.”

“But he couldn’t have committed the crime because he left the monitor with Kaede, _right?”_  
Ouma’s eyes glitter like jewels in the flashing lights, his smile sharp as a knife. He taps a finger against his cheek like he knows exactly what she’s thinking.

Suddenly, there’s so much doubt in this whole case. Saihara knew the intervals. Saihara had the monitor.  
But why would he lie? Why even bring up Himiko?  
She’s not going to stop believing in him because a liar decided to mess with her.

Kaede narrows her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest. “Right,” she says. “And he came back quickly, anyway. And we waited for a while before the sensor went off.”

“And that’s when you dropped the shotput?” Harukawa asks, slowly combing her fingers through a long pigtail. Kaede nods. 

Hoshi grunts, sinking his chin into his lapels. “So the murder couldn’t have happened any earlier, anyway. The shotput needed to be there.”

“B-but!” Chabashira stammers, tugging at the petals on her goggles. “Himiko-san was already asleep before then!”

“Saihara,” Amami asks, folding his hands thoughtfully. “When you went down and found Himiko-san asleep, what did you see?”

Saihara shrinks back as everyone turns to him. He glances around the trial room anxiously, eyes flicking to-and-fro from every person that stares at him.  
Kaede bunches her hands up, holding them against her chest. _Come on, Saihara. Come on. You can do this._

His eyes meet hers. It feels like some kind of exchange passes there, some unspoken emotion. His throat bobs.

“She was, um. Out cold, but standing,” he says. “I-If that matters. I wasn’t really down long enough to say what she was doing, but… There wasn’t anything out of place.” He ducks his head. “S-sorry, that’s not very useful.”

Angie clasps her hands together. “It’s okay, Shuichi! God knows you did your best! He’ll forgive you after we’re all killed here!”

_Out of place._

“Saihara,” Kaede says. “Can you bring out the piece of metal we found?”

Slowly, the anthropologist reaches into his pocket, and retrieves that tiny, embossed notebook. Opening it up, he moves a bookmark out of place, and then lifts up the little metal chip. It glints in the trial room.

“You said there was nothing out of place when you went down, right?” Kaede asks, watches him nod, his fingers trembling slightly around that tiny, crucial piece of evidence. “Was there any broken metal?”

He shakes his head. 

“And Himiko?” Kaede turns to look at the girl, with her face all pale, her mouth gritted in determination. “Did you see Kiibo drop his monopad out in the hall?”

Himiko lifts her chin. “No,” she says. “That had to have come from me.” 

“But what could have made you shed metal?” Iruma asks, flipping her hair back. 

Kaede bites her lip. “I… I have one idea,” she says, quietly. “But-”

She can’t even get through it before Chabashira is cutting in, her eyes wild and blazing green.

"I won't let you!" The inventor cries. "This isn't right, I won't let you vote wrong!"

"Chabashira-" 

But she's in some kind of frenzy, torn between panic and guilt, and Kaede can see it in her eyes, feel it in that twisted, tormented ki, and she knows how frightened Chabashira must be feeling because she's feeling it to. 

"Himiko-san wouldn't do this!" She keeps repeating. "Himiko-san is a good person! She's my _friend._ We were in my lab together until we went down! It's not her fault she fell asleep. It's my fault! I'm the one who let her battery drain! You only think it's her because Tenko let her battery drain that low- Himiko, I'm so sorry, please- please don't say it was her!" 

And is this frenzied, rapid spat of sound, all Kaede can do is try to keep up. She cuts in with reassurance and negation, physically reaches out across the trial room, tries to hush the inventor as she pulls at her hair and fidgets with her clothes and tries her best to defend someone she cares about.  
Kaede thinks about how she hasn't really seen Chabashira spend time with anyone other than Himiko. About how, despite her adoration for girls, she keeps her distance from them. About how afraid she is of men. 

"Please don't vote for Himiko-san because Tenko made a mistake!" She sobs. 

“Chabashira-san!” Kaede cuts through, gripping at the sides of her podium, holding the girl’s gaze. She can't let this go on. She can't let Chabashira hurt herself anymore. “When you found Himiko-san, her arm was already open- right?”

Chabashira flinches backward, her eyes wide. “I- I don’t-”

“When we came to meet you, you were charging Himiko-san,” Kaede says, lowering her voice into something soft. “But you were also working on some of the wires in her arm… I don’t really understand much about robotics, but I don’t know why you’d need to do that if all that had happened was her battery was drained, right?"

The inventor bites her lip, anxiously twiddling with the ends of her long, flowery braids. “Akamatsu-san…”

“Chabashira,” Himiko says, lifting her head so sharply that her bob swings back. “What happened?”

She's silent for a long moment. The courtroom holds its breath.

Chabashira sobs.  
“Please don’t make me,” she says. “Please don’t make Tenko do this.”

“We need to know the truth,” Kaede says, even though her heart feels like it’s shattering. “For Himiko-san’s sake… We need to know what really happened, okay?”

“Please, Chabashira-san,” Himiko whispers.

It feels like the whole world stops turning for a moment- or maybe that’s just the trial room, slowing its music and lowering those flashing, crashing lights. Kaede can’t tell if it makes her feel better or worse.

Chabashira wets her lips.

“I…” She curls her fingers, slowly, around the straps of her goggles. When she speaks again, her voice shakes. “When Tenko found Himiko-san…. Her arm was… d-damaged.” She swallows. “Weight damaged. Several wires had fractured, a-although the metal was still whole. T-Tenko didn’t mention it, because… she was more worried about how she was out of battery- I was worried she’d get hurt! That’s why Tenko called Amami-san out to come help me…”  
She flails out, like she isn’t quite in control of her limbs, and then has to pause to fuss around for a moment, withdrawing a handful of screws from her pocket and rolling them in her palm like a stress ball. “Tenko- Tenko meant to bring it up in the trial, but then… we all thought it was Akamatsu-san, and then… Saihara-san said.” She inhales shakily. “He said it was Himiko-san, and Tenko knew she couldn’t say anything.”

“Chabashira…” Himiko whispers.

The inventor tips a handful of screws onto the floor, emptying one hand, and then reaches up to scrub at her eyes with it. “It’s not fair,” she says, choking a little. “It’s not fair that Himiko-san should have to die for something she didn’t have a choice in. It’s not fair that she should- that she shouldn’t be treated like a person! She’s a girl, like us!”

Kaede feels like she might be sick. “Oh, Himiko,” she whispers. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Himiko, upper lip trembling a little, forces a smile onto her face. “Don’t be!” She says. “I- I might not remember it, but… I. I hope that I would have chosen to do something that brave on my own. My professor…” She trails off, and her shoulders are shaking, and Kaede knows that, tear ducts or not, she’s crying. “My professor always read me stories about magical heroes. I… I’m lazy, and I’m not very strong, or good at sports, but… I guess now I’m a bit like one of those heroes.” Lifting her face, she smiles, so wide and open that those red eyes crease shut. “Because I got to save Akamatsu-san! And- and she got to save all of you. Now no one has to die to that stupid time limit.”

“But we’re still trapped here,” Iruma says, clutching at her own body. “And we still don’t know who the mastermind is!”

Himiko tugs at her hairband, pulling it down until it covers her brow. “Well,” she says, "now you have a bunch more time to figure it out. And to wait to be rescued." She pushes it back up again, biting her lip. "I know you guys will figure it out! And then.... and then you'll all go and be friends, right? Like we promised."

"This is so fucked," Momota mutters. "This is so, so fucked."

"As sorry as I am to interrupt this," Monokuma says, sounding almost feverishly excited. "But I do believe it's voting time!"

Kaede stares as the voting screen raises. She bites her lip.

Monokuma runs the result on the screens hanging overhead- thirteen votes for H1M1. Two votes for Akamatsu Kaede.

Faintly, she wonders if the other one was Chabashira.

"Fuck," Iruma whispers.

"Don't be sad, guys," Himiko says, smiling as bright as anything- almost convincing enough to cover the way she's trembling like a leaf. "This isn't my real body or anything, remember? I'm already dead! I died hundreds of years ago... and now I'll just go find another body to possess!" For just a moment, her smile slips a little. "It probably won't be as nice as this one, though."

"If little miss robot could go and stand on that X- the one by the big open doors by the observation room," Monokuma says cheerfully.

Himiko glances around, then slowly steps off her pedestal, her metal feet tap-tap-tapping over the floor until she reaches the X printed clear at the opening of two giant metal doors, the windows on either side hiding something too dim to look into yet. The robot sets her feet down in place and adjusts her cape.

She looks back at them all, giving an almost shy little wave. “Bye,” she says, softly. “You guys… you were my first friends, other than the professor. I’m glad I could help.” She breaks off in a yawn, and then rubs at one of her eyes- and the gesture is so tiny, and human, and so- so- _Himiko,_ that a laugh trickles around the group. “Well, I guess I’m gonna have to go find another body to possess now… nyeh, what a hassle.”

“Himiko-san!” Kaede is speaking before she even knows it, pushing through the crowd, until she’s up at the front, standing by Chabashira’s side. The girl blinks over at her, pushing up her hairband.  
Kaede takes a breath, then clutches at her chest. “You saved me, Himiko. I can feel your ki. You- you’re not a robot at all. You really are-” and she has to pause to blink back tears, her heart thudding almost painfully. “You’re the strongest spirit I’ve ever met!” Kaede lifts her arms into a combat pose, pumping her fists. “Keep your ki glowing inside you, okay?”

Himiko’s eyes shine. Hesitantly, she nods, then pushes her shoulders back- like she’s readying for her first match. “You too, Akamatsu-san,” she murmurs.

“Is she really going to die?” Saihara whispers, hand clamped over his mask, the sound of his voice so muffled that it’s almost impossible to make out. “Is this really happening?”

“She’s going out a hero,” Shinguji says, dipping his head in a bow. “I’ll write a song to memoralize her spirit.”

“Himiko-san,” Chabashira sobs, and when Kaede turns to look at her, she almost wishes she hadn’t. “You don’t have to do this.” The inventor is shaking with the force of her tears, the ends of her braids pulled apart by anxious picking, her nose and cheeks flushed violent, fevered red. “Let me go instead.”

Himiko tilts her head to the side, and her cheeks go a little pink. “Chabashira-san,” she starts, and then stops. “There might not be any other robots like me.... And you might never meet another ghost again…” She brings her fingertips together to fidget, mimicking one of Chabashira’s usual stims. “But… you’ve got lots of other people here. I think… you don’t need to be so afraid of impressing them.” 

“Himiko-san,” Chabashira repeats, like it’s the only thing she knows how to. Kaede looks at her, then moves closer, wrapping her arms around the girl as she shakes like a leaf. 

Himiko looks like she wants to say more, mouth opening for just a second, but before she can, Monokuma’s voice cuts through the crowd, a high drawl creeping up Kaede’s spine.

"So sorry to cut this short," the bear says, sounding even happier than usual. “But H1M1 has been found guilty!” It chirps, winding up the mallet behind it’s head. “Iiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s- oh, you all know. It’s punishment time!”

And then it slams the gavel down on that big red button of doom and the doors behind Himiko fly open, and the once-silent trial room is suddenly filled with the pulse of music again.

“Welcome,” Monokuma says, “to the ultimate robot’s ultimate execution!”

\--

**DO H1M1’S DREAM OF ELECTRIC SHEEP?**

Himiko falls backward like she’s been pushed by some unseeable force, flying through the opened room - until her back hits metal and she crumples forward, pinned against the end of a giant magnet, hanging almost crucified against the pulse of it.

She blinks her eyes open slowly, winded despite the sensation being largely artificial. She knows it’s artificial, knows she’s just programmed to react, to think, she’s feeling pain- but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like everything was knocked out of her, that when she struggles to pull herself from the magnet like a bug in a honeytrap, that she doesn’t feel a flutter of panic spread through her circuits.

She’s not trying to run, not really, but she takes a moment to assess her surroundings. Despite being almost crushed by the pull of the magnet, the environment around her is almost peaceful- it looks like a farm, sheep and cows gamboling about, a cat standing by the edge of a barn. When she looks down, she sees grass waving beneath her feet.

She glances up, after that, over to a tree, and makes eye contact with the bird there. It chirps, ruffles its feathers, and lets out a few notes of song- echoing above whatever song Monokuma is flooding the room with- 

And then the magnet behind her suddenly _pulses,_ and it’s like she can feel the metal of her spine contract and crunch into it.

Himiko cries out on pain, her eyes scrunching closed- when they open again, she’s met with the same bird as before, its eyes flashing yellow. Its head suddenly pops off its body, suspended on a metal link, and it swivels to stare right at Himiko.

Kicking her legs out wildly, she glances around again- she can see more birds now, all with their glowing eyes, and now the cat, too, by the barn is flashing with that same unnatural yellow, and then the sheep, and before she can catch her breath every single animal on the farm is clicking, jaws dropping, heads cricking back to transform into some unholy combination of creature and machine. 

And all at once, they run at her. 

The birds get there first, scraping at her with beaks and claws made of titanium, peeling the paint from her skin, ripping the silicone hair from her head, and it _hurts,_ her whole body fired up with wires programmed to receive pain. Every time her body is damaged, it hurts, every time they chip her paint and dent into the metal and tear off her false eyelashes- and more keep coming, more and more birds swooping in until her vision is completely blocked by their fake feathers and glowing yellow eyes. They just keep coming, scraping and tearing at her and screeching in her ears until she can’t even hear the song anymore. 

The magnet shakes, suddenly, and she forces one eye open to catch a glimpse of the sheep ramming their metal heads into the base of it- and then a bird digs its claws right into her optics and she _screams,_ kicking and pulling and beating against the magnet.

She said she’d be brave- she wants to be brave so badly- but it hurts so _much_ and she’s never felt so human and so weak.

A group of birds claw through her already weakened wrist, and she can feeling them tugging wires out of her, tearing them in place and making little short circuits snap at the rest of her nerves. The magnet keeps shaking, steady, heavy pulses, as the sheep ram into it with enough force to shaking the fan in her skull. Pink drips from her open arm, from her eyes, from every little tear they’ve made into her body as she wails, and she thinks of the Monokuma that shattered all over the dining hall floor at the same time she feels something rip her stomach open and slice apart the metal protecting her more important circuitry.

She’s lucky, in a way. After they tear open her torso and leave her bleeding fake blood onto the grass below, it only takes them a few seconds to snap her CPU in two. 

It would have taken them much longer to work through the coding in her head- this way, there’s one last, desperate moment of life, where it seems like a million memories spark to life all at once, in one, vibrant, white light- 

And then Himiko shuts down for the last time.

\--

Surrounding the observation windows looking down into the room Himiko was dragged into, the class is silent, shaking. 

Kaede didn’t know what she expected- a guillotine, or a gun, or some kind of normal execution, not- not whatever that was. A whole pop up scene, designed specifically for Himiko, with a kind of technology that puts Monokuma to shame.

Someone throws up behind her, someone else mutters a curse, another person gags or whimpers.

Kaede stares as the windows slowly dim, like the lights inside the room are being shut off, and Himiko’s body fades from view- still hanging uselessly from the magnet, her torn legs dangling beneath the pressure of her body trapped against the metal. She’s barely recognizable, dented and broken and bleeding, and it felt like it lasted forever and she couldn’t look away-  
And Kaede thinks _that could have been me._

Next to her, Chabashira’s fingers are digging into her arm hard enough to bruise, but Kaede can’t bring herself to peel them away. The inventor’s sobs went quiet after a while, dying down to silent shakes. Kaede can’t move her left arm, but she reaches out with the right anyway, turning in to hold Chabashira as gently as she can. 

“Oh my god,” Shirogane whispers. “They designed that just for her…”

The thought is… incredibly sobering. Is there a room like that set up for Kaede, ready to pull itself together and rip her apart?

“She was screaming so loud,” Amami whispers, and it’s followed up by the sound of retching. Kaede winces, squeezes her eyes shut, and clings tighter to Chabashira.

At some point, Monokuma must disappear, because she looks up and he’s gone, but… it doesn’t really feel like it matters. The doors to the elevator open with a dull, grating sound, but no one makes a move to enter.

“This is all my fault.”

Kaede looks up, at that, tucking her chin over Chabashira’s head and turning to look over her crumpled form. It’s Saihara who spoke, a few feet behind them, what little of his face she can see colored ashen. He’s pulled the mask so high that it stretches up to the bridge of his nose, holding it against his cheeks. 

“Saihara-kun,” she breathes, and she wants to take a step over to him, but Chabashira is still clinging to her shirt, and Kaede can’t let her go. “Saihara, no, this wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was,” he says, and she can _hear_ the hyperventilation from her position on the floor. “I was the one who came up with the stupid plan- there probably isn’t even a ringleader at all, it doesn’t even matter-”

“Saihara-kun!” Gonta says, painfully kind despite what they’ve just witnessed, rubbing Iruma’s back as she wipes her mouth. “Gonta thinks you did a very good job!” 

Hoshi pushes up his hat with a thumb. “Gotta pull yourself together, kid,” he says. 

Saihara keeps looking at them, flicking between each person with wild eyes. “I-” he stutters.

Kaede opens her mouth and finds nothing there. “If- if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine,” she says, and she thinks he starts to look over, but she lowers her eyes before his can reach her, shame flushing hot in her cheeks. She thinks of Himiko waving goodbye, and the blood soaking that artificial grass, and Chabashira trembling against her, and how much faith the group had had in her.  
That Saihara had had in her.  
“It’s all my fault,” she says, and she’s crying again, her throat raw, her eyes wet. “Himiko’s dead and it’s my fault. You weren’t the one who tried to kill someone. I went against the principles of aikido, a-and this is what comes of it.” Chabashira shifts in her arms, and Kaede buries her face in the girl’s hair- it’s such a weak and stupid gesture, but all she can do it hold on and hope she doesn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry,” she sobs. “Chabashira-san, I’m s-so sorry- Himiko-san, I’m so sorry- I’m sorry Kiibo, I’m sorry everyone, I’m sorry S-Sai-”

She doesn’t get to finish apologizing to him, because a resounding _thud_ echoes through the court room.

Kaede lifts her head to see Saihara, dazed, almost falling back before he catches himself, his feet dancing awkwardly to catch his weight- a waltzer with no partner. 

Momota stands beside him, fist raised. “You need to pull yourself together!” He shouts. “A real man doesn’t abandon his friends!”

“Momota!” Kaede gasps, absolutely scandalized. 

The show of violence is enough to have Chabashira finally lifting her head, and she shifts around to wrap her arms around Kaede, too, and Kaede’s heart aches for all the apologies she owes. “Filthy degenerate!” The inventor snaps, although her bottom lip is trembling. “Don’t punch him while he’s down!”

“I’m helping him!” Momota insists, stubbornly. Saihara lifts a hand to his cheek like he can’t quite process what happened.

“Saihara,” Kaede says, clinging onto Chabashira like if she lets go they’ll all come tumbling down like dominos. “Saihara, I’m so sorry-”

“I-” Saihara stumbles backward, the hand on his face slowly falling down. He glances over to make eye contact with Kaede- but as soon as he finds it, he looks away again, taking another few steps back like a baby giraffe staggering from a predator. “I’m just going to-”

“Leaving so soon?” Ouma hums, inspecting his nails. “Wowwww, Momota-chan. Nice work getting him to open up.”

“Seriously, what the fuck was that?” Iruma snaps. “You didn’t need to _punch_ him.”

Momota huffs, gesturing across the room at Kaede. “He was hurting Akamatsu’s feelings! She’s been through enough, he needs to man up and be there for his friend.” 

“Saihara-” Kaede begins, but when she manages to catch his eye again, he looks terrified.

He looks at her like he’s seeing a ghost. 

“I’m going to- go to my room,” he stammers- and he steps back again, and again, and then he turns around and bolts to the elevator, the sound of his boots echoing in the trial room as he flees.

The class watches him leave. Amami turns to Momota, arms crossed. “That was really unhelpful,” he says, disapprovingly. 

Momota rubs the back of his neck, lips pursed. "He'll get over it," he says. "He just needs to pull himself together." The tennis player glances over his shoulder, brow furrowed. "You alright, Akamatsu? He'll come 'round, don't worry! Prob'ly just stress."

She gives him a faint smile and a nod. Kaede's.... not really sure how to unpack all of that. She'll need to hunt Saihara down and make sure she can apologize properly, later.

For now, Kaede bites her lip, turning to Chabashira. A moment of hurt flashes across the inventor’s face.

“I-” Kaede begins, and then cuts off. It feels like she’ll never be able to apologize enough. “Chabashira-san. I am.” She lets go of her, takes a few steps back, and bows, right down at the waist, pigtails trailing on the floor. “I am so, so sorry. I’m sorry I lied about what I needed the cameras for, and I’m sorry I made you complicit in a trap to kill someone, and I’m sorry I made Himiko-san try to save me and I’m sorry I got her killed and I’m sorry I accused her and I’m sorry I betrayed your trust and I’m so, so, so sorry…” At this point, her voice is dissolving into a mess of hiccups and sobs, sniffing furiously as she tries to pull the words together.

“Akamatsu-san,” Chabashira says, quietly, and Kaede shuts her eyes reflexively. “I…”  
She can hear the inventor’s feet shuffling, the folds of her skirt floating around. “Himiko-san wanted to save you. So… In honor of her last wish, I… Tenko’s going to protect you.”

Kaede blinks. Lifting her head a little, she squints up at Chabashira, and almost doesn’t believe it when she finds her smiling. Blonde curls drip over her forehead as she stares. “What?”

“Tenko forgives you,” Chabashira says, and then she dips into a funny little bow like she can’t stand the thought of not being polite for a second. “But… Tenko might need some space. For a bit.”

“Tenko,” Kaede sniffles, without thinking, and then lunges forward to hug her again. For a moment, Chabashira tenses, almost reflexively, and then one of her hands flutters up to pat Kaede’s back.

Kaede pulls away to stare at the rest of the class, furiously scrubbing her eyes. “I’m so sorry for lying to you all,” she whispers. “You trusted me, and I betrayed that.”

“You were simply trying to save us,” Tojo says, bowing her head. “I would have to lack any kind of empathy to begrudge you that.”

Hoshi shrugs. “I already tried to get Amami to kill me,” he says bluntly. Kaede blinks. “Still would rather it were me than Kiibo, but it is what it is. Better two than sixteen.” He pauses, adjusting his hat, then points at Kaede. “You’ve got a ways to go, though.”

She can’t disagree.

“Chabashira-san put it well, I think,” Shinguji says, his expression almost… not creepy. Almost. “If Himiko-san wanted to save Akamatsu-san so desperately, it would be remiss of us to waste what she gave her life for.”

What she gave her life for. Kaede’s not sure what she makes of that, with the blood she still swears she feels on her fingers, the heavy ache in her heart. Still, she tries to mimic Shinguji’s smile, making an effort to clean herself up. Why did she think wearing mascara this morning was a good idea?  
(This morning- it feels like a lifetime ago. She feels like she was a different person then. Someone holding a poisoned apple, still yet to take a bite. What if she hadn’t let go?)

“Akamatsu,” Harukawa says. Her voice is so commanding that Kaede can’t help but look over, watching the girl cross her arms. “I told you it was dangerous to speak the way you do.”

Thinking back to their last few conversations, Kaede wipes her nose. “Um, sorry?”

Harukawa doesn’t roll her eyes or laugh or do anything but stare, but Kaede has the distinct sense she’s being looked down on. “Be careful with what you trust here,” she says, lowly.

Before there’s any chance to unravel that- _what,_ not _who,_ what does she mean, why is she talking like Kaede made an obvious mistake, where is here - she turns on her heel and follows after Saihara, glancing back. “It’s late. We should all get back to rest. We can regroup for strategy meetings tomorrow.”

“Strategy meetings,” Ouma moans. “God, you’re making this sound like my _job._ ”

“Isn’t this like your job, anyway?” Momota mutters, watching the assassin strut across the room with narrowed eyes. 

Kaede lets out a breath. She feels ruffled, rumpled all over. She feels a little broken. She’s afraid. She’s still replaying those last moments of Himiko’s death in her mind- the way she screamed, loud even over the music, the way her legs had kicked to get away, the way that pink had dripped from her skin, sickeningly fake and hyperreal all at once. 

If there’s ki in her, it’s slippery and small, slipping from her hands like smoke or soap. The peace garden of her mind overgrew into something dark and gnarled, a forest of trees with branches like barbed wire. Berries hanging from every bush, false-ripe and sour, black-red and ready to squirt juice in your eye. 

She inhales, and feels her stomach rise, before she lets it go again, and pulls up a smile that doesn't quite fit. 

“Let’s go,” she tells her friends.

\--

Back in his room, Shuichi stares in his mirror. Slowly, shaking fingers furl around the straps of his mask. It snags once, twice, on a few piercings as he slips the elastic over his ears and pulls it free from his face.

Inhales. Wets his lips.

He looks utterly ordinary, save for the bruise blooming over his right cheek. There are no dramatic scars to cover up, no branding tattoos or ingrown teeth or makeup stains. Shuichi’s lips are thin but pleasant. His cupids bow is smooth. His nose is angled and natural. His mouth looks like it could belong to any other person.

Shuichi’s lips parts- intake of breath, aspirate, tongue to the front of his teeth and-

Nothing. He can say nothing, like this, staring at his mouth, waiting for the words to come out and knowing that all they will do is hurt and break and shatter.

He’d thought- for what felt like an eternity in that courtroom, he’d thought he was going to have to carry Akamatsu’s death on his shoulders, too. But- no, it was H1M1, of course it was, he’d wondered since he found that scrap of metal and realized she didn’t have an alibi, and now it seems useless to have accused Akamatsu in the first place- all he did was ruin her reputation and cause unnecessary suffering, and he _still_ didn’t escape the curse he’s carried since he wrote that damn fucking paper. Because H1M1 is dead now, and it doesn’t matter if she’s a robot because she was alive and talking and _human_ and then she wasn’t, and it’s because he accused her- and even before that, Kiibo is dead, with his eyes like the stars and his naive affectations, and that’s Shuichi’s fault, too, because he was the one who brought up the stupid plan with the cameras in the first place.

It’d be better if he never spoke. 

Hands on his shoulders. He can’t feel them, but he sees them, when he looks in the mirror. His mouth hangs open uselessly as the fingers dig into the back of his neck, and a ghost curls up around his shoulders.

Yoshida Eichi was his name, when he was alive. Shuichi never saw his corpse, but he knows he hung himself, dressed in his old uniform, tie and rope tight around his neck like he was still any kind of academic. He used to stay up at night and google rope burn and hanging victims, his fingertips bruised, shaking from the shots of instant coffee. That’s why the ghost never looks like the polished photos they showed in the obituary- it’s why his face is bloated blue and his neck is wrung out.

Shuichi knows that ghosts aren’t real. It’s not unusual to see someone you cared about or felt responsible for after they died. He never speaks, just lingers. The light doesn’t pass through him correctly. A hallucination borne of guilt and stress. It would go away with therapy, he’s sure. Every human condition is treatable- able to improve, even if not disappear.

In the mirror, he watches the ghost’s mouth move. His own moves in tandem- puppet and puppeteer. 

_“You were the one who planned this, you know.”_ The ghost says, but it’s Kiibo’s voice- or maybe that’s H1M1, the low hum of machinery below it. 

He has no argument. Fumbling with his own shaking fingers, Shuichi pulls the mask back up, fixing it high over his nose and adjusting the straps. 

He clicks his jaw, wiggles it from side to side, purses his lips. The movement is barely visible from beneath the thick fabric.

Shuichi lets out a breath. 

“I know,” he says.

\--

That was about as successful as you could have hoped for. The ratings are going crazy.

It was good to not lose Akamatsu so early- she’s been popular so far, and the audience empathizes with her spirit. Hopefully she can keep it up. Hopefully the guilt doesn’t crush her.

Ah, well. If it does, you can always adapt. 

Clipping on the pigtails, brushing down the skirt, putting in the contacts, you sit down to reconnect with headquarters. 

“Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis is Junko Enoshima~!” You report, flicking between a multitude of screens. “How’s that for a successful plot twist, mm? Am I good or am I good?” The valley-girl accent drips from your lips like syrup.

You’re not just good. You’re the best.

There’s a new message in your inbox. You hover over it for a moment before you click.

_Ah._

Time to reshuffle the cards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not! super happy with how i did the mystery! i think it was still a bit too "danganronpa-y" which is good to play through but not so good to read i think? idk i hope there were enough hints that it didnt feel like i was completely pulling this out of my ass? im gonna throw up a post on instagram kind of covering how i plotted it but. yeah i promise i did intend for this im just STUPID and terrible at writing things in a linear fashion which makes laying good groundwork for mysteries VERY DIFFICULT. im 24/7 like "oh this is so obvious and trite" and also "you did not hint this enough". i PROMISE im not trying to pull some bullshit plot-twisty stuff thats BAD WRITING foreshadow everything i want my readers to have a fun time puzzling stuff out! i am just. still learning!!!!! the next trial i'll have a better handle on i think.  
> rip H1M1 i am so sorry. i loved u so dearly you and tenko were a very powerful concept here. i cut u down before ur prime :(  
> no character development for mr. saihara. bet you wish you had a strong personality to latch onto like a barnacle huh??????? keep that mask on bastard man.
> 
> i probs need to edit this later but i pulled an all nighter i just. needed to get it done and published or i would go insane. anyway mwah mwah love all of u so much thank you for being so sweet and supportive and wonderful
> 
> FTE voting here!!! https://strawpoll.com/wdko11vux


	6. blind steal.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "These babies is pretty important, you know. You'll wanna keep em real close to you, alright?" It's a broadcast, and it's a robot, and it's a recording, but the eye contact only seems to grow in intensity. "They're a good reminder of why you wanna play along."
> 
> The monitor flickers with static, shuts off with a click. Kaede finally tears her eyes away, a tremble running down her legs. When did she tense up?
> 
> The gift box is sitting by her door, just like he said. The idea that Monokuma crept into her room makes her uneasy beyond words, but- she supposes she knew he could do that, logically, on some level. Still, it's an unpleasant reminder. 
> 
> Kaede thinks of Schrodinger and his cat, and for a moment she wonders if she can just leave the box as is- unopened, unknowing. Out of sight, out of mind. It's not a motive to kill if she doesn't know the motive.  
> But, for the others' sake, at least, she's got to keep going. She's got to find out everything she can. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO SORRY this is so late! it's extremely long. it should not be this long. writing should be concise and only contain what is necessary. ouma and saihara did not need to flirt for six thousand words. honestly rlly sorry for the saiouma brainrot in this one. Literally didnt even mean it to be this shippy so you dont have to interpret it that way (yet). Ouma is just a tease and Saihara can’t resist a puzzle. i cannot believe how many words i have this early on in the plot. genuinely im a bit freaked about it bc its. i mean it feels like bad writing but also danganronpa the game is literally DAYS of gameplay so. i guess trying to rewrite the whole thing was always going to involve A Lot Of Words
> 
> ouma won the fte poll with quite a lead but! i ended up having way more of him in this chapter than i expected. so that fte will happen next chapter! it's his fucking fault this is 20k words. i have been restraining myself from writing him for ages in this fic and now he wants to be in control again. (that and i had some uh! irl stuff go down which is why im a little unhinged atm lol)
> 
> if you see a space where it seems like some sentences/context are missing, no you dont <3 (but do tell me actually like i say i lose it after about 10k words and i dont write chronologically so jumping between scenes mean i sometimes miss shit.)  
> anyway aside from being unneccessarily long and gay im really proud of this so! please enjoy!

**DANGANRONPA UNOFFICIAL FAN FORUMS**  
*13+  
*Respect others' opinions please!

*Please remember that while Team Danganronpa acknowledges us and posts here sometimes, not everything is an official source.  
*We do not endorse gambling or the sharing of explicit content.  
*There may be gore. It’s _your_ responsibility to look out for yourself.

**thread- SEASON 53 CHAPTER ONE- _A FIXED GAME_**

**shslgoreblog:** hey!!!! now that the first arc is FINALLY finished i just wanted to see what everyone thought about what had happened so far!! :p personally i loved it!!!! 

**ultimatelosr:** they’ve got a really cool lineup of talents this season i think  
**> shslgoreblog:** right??? my fave is definitely the ultimate magician. that’s such a cool one! plus, amami is sooooo hot lol

 **makotostan:** it’s been aaaages since we’ve had a girl protag, im really excited about it tbh. theyre always way more fun than the guys i think  
**> goldchimes:** yeah and dumber lol

 **lewddddd:** does anyone else think that having the protags talent be aikido is kind of some sjw shit? like, why would you make the ultimate aikido master be a girl if ur not trying to pander. its sooo heavyhanded and shes a protag too? at least shes hot but shes so fuckin annoying lol  
**> junkojunkie:** shes not gonna fuck you dude  
**> lewddddd:** you dont know that!

 **oddgoth:** Guys! Remember that Team Danganronpa take audience opinion into account with the surviving characters! Please click on this link and vote for your favourites to increase their chances of survival!  
**> shslgoreblog:** ugh please stop spamming this. DR doesnt interfere with the deaths in any way.  
**> goldchimes:** @mods can you please ban this bot  
**> candyguts:** lmao at the idea of mods doing anything

 **tsumugifan1:** did parts of the trial feel rushed to anyone else? Idk i feel like there wasnt enough emphasis on evidence lol

 **junkojunkie:** hey guys, if you want you can check out some of my season theories _here_

 **darkhorse:** click here if you want to make a little money off this season ;)  
**> makotostan:** that was fast lololol  
**> killergrl:** holy SHIT i thought i was gonna lose everything for a second with akamatsu  
**> candyguts:** cant believe kiibo died first i was so sure it would be harukawa.  
**> hayan00:** is there anyway to place bets without making a fantasy team? I just wanna straight bet on who’s gonna live  
**> darkhorse:** i gotchu, check ur dms  
**> shslgoreblog:** @mods, seriously?

 **canonjunkokin:** OK BUT THE REAL QUESTION IS WHETHER SAIHARA IS GOING TO BE A BLACKENED OR A VICTIM  
**> shslgoreblog:** my sister reckons that he’s gonna snap and become a blackened!  
**> candyguts:** he’s going out third trial im calling it now.  
**> dem0n:** fourth or fifth and hes gonna kill himself.  
**> narwhalmoustache:** he gives me the creeps >w<  
**> goldchimes:** no you know who’s creepy? pianofucker.  
**> shslgoreblog:** right? and the assassin, too. he’s sooo cute but he puts me on edge :p  
**> junkojunkie:** i’m glad the robot’s gone she creeped me out.

 **miiiiiikan:** im disappointed! ;w; i was looking forward to the audience participation :(  
**> junkojunkie:** they already said they had a backup ready you fucking idiot  
**> shslgoreblog:** ok dont be rude!!! but yea! ^^ they already said they have something different prepared. personally i thought it was suuuuch a good setup for a plottwist bc we all expected the robot to be safe!

 **deadroses:** i actually thought the plot twist was a bit of a stretch. Like, you get us all hype for the big twist with akamatsu and then it’s just…. not? it felt cheap. tacked on.  
**> clockw0rkkitty:** yeah it was a bit much. kind of felt like the writing team were editing as they went along.  
**> jbjbjbj:** The writing team only handle personalities and motives. Blame everything that happens ingame on the mastermind.  
**> rottingroses:** im sorry but a double twist is just so cheap. they didn’t make the most of H1M1.

 **glitchC0R3:** wait so what’s the backup audience partic?  
**> shslgoreblog:** they’re posing questions to the audience! but you have to solve a riddle or something to access them? idk there’s like a test or something.  
**> ultimatelosr:** i saw an ARG page for it online but i couldnt figure out the fucking puzzles lol. im just gonna wait for the internet to do it for me.  
**> unseeliekey:** have you heard of the kattar shuffle?  
**> shslgoreblog:** ????? like with cards?  
**> unseeliekey:** not cards.  
**> shslgoreblog:** oh then no lol  
**> unseeliekey:** yeah, ur not seeing those questions ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡  
**> shslgoreblog:** ok rude…… -w-

 **stopdanganronpa:** hey friendly reminder that you’re all fucking disgusting for supporting this.  
**> shslgoreblog:** ok, banned :)  
**> killergrl:** dont like, dont watch, dumbass

 **applepie:** hey, what does everyone think harukawa’s talent is meant to be?  
**> hayn00:** something really dark, i bet.  
**> eyesonyou:** maybe she really doesnt remember and itll be revealed later?  
**> clockw0rkkitty:** idk but i bet it’s linked to the previous game. she’s already referenced it a few times……. :3c

 **fixerfic:** how the FUCK is there already a hopes peak au tag for them on ao3 are you guys ok????? do you need help??? it’s been 3 weeks and there’s already like 400k words written about saihara specifically are you guys GOOD?????????  
**> energeyedrinks:** lov me a goth scholar  
**> bacchaebabe:** got those dark academia vibes  
**> cheapertricks:** i just think someone should make him a cup of coffee.  
**> fixerfic:** u realize that spending multiple hours of ur real actual life writing Too Much fanfic is why everyone thinks hardcore dangan fans are crazy?  
**> cheapertricks:** no, people think hardcore dangan fans are crazy bc they DOXX PEOPLE  
**> bacchaebabe:** ok so social media au where ouma doxxes akamatsu and saihara has to hunt him down-  
**> fixerfic:** GO DO YOUR HOMEWORK OR SOMETHING

 **villainousthingz:** thanks danganronpa for once again fulfilling my desire for bloodshed and adventure

\--

**DMS you _(ultimatelosr)_ , shslgoreblog:**

**you:** huh

 **shslgoreblog:** ????

 **you:** i wasnt sure at first but after that trial i definitely am.  
**you:** i think i know the protag in this

 **shslgoreblog:** you’re JOKING

 **you:** nope.  
**you:** i was friends with her sister i guess. i havent seen her in ages though

 **shslgoreblog:** OHS MGY GHOD  
**shslgoreblog:** is she similar??

 **you:** not at all lmao. she was a real bitch  
**you:** every time i see her smile my skin crawls a bit, its wild

 **shslgoreblog:** im hyperventilating a bit here  
**shslgoreblog:** you have to tell me EVERYTHING tomorrow!!!!

 **you:** yeah sure lol  
**you:** personalities this season are pretty bizarre huh?

 **shslgoreblog:** right???? im into it. i always like the weirdos lol

 **you:** lol  
**you:** wanna livestream the next one together?

 **shslgoreblog:** yeah!!!!

\--

_Someone is alone under the maple trees with their hands full of red leaves filtered violet. Moon, overhead, hanging in the sea of the sky. Her reflection ripples._

_Leaves, on hands, on skin, slipping between fingers. Falling on water lilies. The pool in the garden is still as ever. The wind is cool, silvery and damp. The whole world is underwater, blocked by night._

_The steps across the grass are silent, but she can feel the presence behind her, anyway- half dream, half memory._

_Kaede, six years old and seventeen, turns and her hair flickers between pigtails and loose buns, floating in the air around her._

_“Mama,” she says. She can’t see her mother’s face- maybe because it’s a dream. Maybe she can’t remember it properly. But she recognizes the yukata, reaches out for the soft fabric to pull it against her cheek. As soon as her fingers brush the music-note pattern, it turns to mist._

_Mother and aunt, hand tilting up her chin. Child and teenager and too, too, old, Kaede lifts her head._

_“What have you done?” Her mother whispers, and her voice sounds tight and distant, like it might belong to someone else completely. “Were we not enough?”_

_She swallows, trembles, reaches for the fringes of the gown again. The maple trees tremble in the wind._

_“Blood on your hands, the moment you made your choice,” her mother whispers, dream-dialogue; and then, warm and familiar again, “my little ultimate.”_

_Her fingers fix around Kaede’s chin, tight and sharp and in a way she never, ever, really would._

_“Are you proud of yourself?”_

Kaede, seventeen, hair around her shoulders, wakes up with a choked gasp. 

She lays awake for what feels like an eternity, crumpled and foetal, staring out over the dorm room she’s trapped in.  
And then for the second time that night, she cries herself to sleep. Her tears taste like salt. Like blood.

\--

Kaede really doesn’t want to step into the dining hall.

It’s the day after the trial. She knows she’s going to walk in there and there will be no Himiko, no Kiibo. That her classmates will look up at her and judge and hate and suspect- she tried to kill someone. The blackened killer and the spotless students… but it’s not so simple, right? Himiko was glowing, brilliant, white and red and ghostly, when she died. If anyone here is stamped with death, it’s Kaede.

She takes a breath. Furls and unfurls her fingers. She just has to keep going. She has to make up for it. It doesn’t matter if she regains their trust, or if they like her, or forgive her, it just.... It just matters that she can make it up to them. That she can help them.

And the only way to do that is find out the secrets of this school.

She pushes the door open slowly, her breath leaking out at the same pace the door drifts open, and slowly steps inside- one foot at a time, glancing up hesitantly.

The conversation dies down for a moment, sinking into silence. She can see confliction on the faces of a few people- Chabashira, Gonta, Harukawa, all glancing away. 

“Hello, Akamatsu-san,” Tojo says warmly, ever the leader. Kaede forces a smile to her face, and Tojo returns it easily, like it’s no trouble at all. “Come join us.”

She glances around the table- Shirogane waves her over, sweet as ever, pushing up her glasses at the same time she puts down an off-center but otherwise perfect stack of cucumber sandwiches. Gonta, despite himself, gives her a nervous little smile, and Angie excitedly waves her over. Shinguji watches her like she’s a science experiment.

Saihara is notably absent.

She doesn’t have much time to dwell on the way her stomach sinks before Momota enters after her, clapping a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t jump- she might not be able to call herself an aikido master anymore, but years of training haven’t left in a night (although it feels like they might have.) Her body readies to move with him, but remains still when he does nothing but grin down at her like everything’s fine. “Alright, Akamatsu?”

Kaede nods, her voice trapped somewhere in the folds of her throat. Momota gives her a thumbs up. 

“Come sit with me and Hoshi,” he says. 

She follows, because, if Saihara isn’t here, she doesn’t really have anywhere else to sit. Hoshi, leaning back in his chair, gives her a gruff nod, and across the table, Harukawa averts her eyes but murmurs a greeting. Brushing the folds of her skirt down as she sits, Kaede gives them all a nervous smile before Shirogane serves her a plate with a bowed head. “Oh, thanks.” It’s the first thing she’s said since she parted with the others in the dorms. She’s almost surprised she can speak at all.

Shirogane smiles at her, all placid, peaceful eyes. “Thank _you,_ Akamatsu-san,” she says. “I really appreciate what you tried to do for us.”

“Ah-” Kaede has nothing really to say to that. She ends up staring at her plate, serving herself a crepe for something to do. Shirogane just smiles gently as she moves along the table to pour Hoshi what looks like his third espresso.

“Oi, Akamatsul,” Iruma says loudly, “if you want some of the strawberries, you better grab ‘em before I take them all.”

Kaede supposes this is her version of a peace offering. A small smile tugs at her mouth, and she reaches out to scoop a tablespoonful onto her crepes before pushing the rest over the table to the cosplayer. “Thank you, Iruma-san. I hope you enjoy them!” God, that was awkward. Has she forgotten to _talk_ like a normal person? 

Iruma nods, almost defensively, and looks like she might want to say something else- but she ends up just shrugging, tipping the whole bowl of strawberries onto her otherwise plain yoghurt. “Obviously I will. They’re _strawberries,_ idiot. Don’t you know they taste good? Or did you not get to eat normal food in your nunnery?” She breaks into a laugh, flicking a spoonful of syrup across the table. 

At least some things stay the same. Kaede rolls her eyes as Shirogane fusses to clean it up, and it feels… a little normal.

And then Monokuma.

He’s chased out fast, between her, Chabashira, and Momota. Chabashira is in tears by the end of it, yelling, a broken plate on the table. Tojo wraps an arm around the inventor and quietly ushers her away.

The leader glances over her shoulder, concern all over her pretty, pale features. Chabashira buries her face in the lapels of her neat blazer and sobs. "I'll take her to her lab," she tells them. "Shirogane-san, could you please let me know what I miss?"

The maid bows her head sweetly. "Of course, Tojo-san."

Kaede tries to give Chabashira some privacy as she's lead out, staring at the strawberries on her plate and nudging them with her fork. But she can't turn her ears off, can't stop herself from hearing the murmured comforts and the quiet crying as the pair exit.

The rest of them are left staring at the collected objects on the table- a flashlight, an odd orb, a few other bizarre bits and pieces that are meant to unlock _further secrets of the school,_ whatever that means. Ouma is quick to run off with the flashlight, and the other pieces are divided up fairly evenly, and then everyone separates to go and explore. Kaede hesitates at the fringes of the slowly splitting groups. She can't bring herself to try and lead them like she could before- but they still look to her, ask her opinion on where to search. She swallows down her anxiety and shows them upstairs, watches the school shift and reveal itself like something in an anime.

"New talent labs," Monokuma had informed them. "But you'll have to find them!"

Kaede is there when they find Shirogane's, watches the maid's eyes light up behind her glasses as she gives a delighted gasp. The lab itself is... it looks more like a maid _cafe_ than anything else. She can already imagine the comments Iruma would have made if she was there with them. Lace everywhere, shades of soft blue that match Shirogane's general colorscheme- a few tables scattered around, high bookcases in gentle colors filled with everything from manga to embroidery to history, other machines tucked in between. A laundry machine sits between two bookshelves, a case of ornaments hanging overhead. It has this very chic feel- old and modern all at once. Kaede coos over the kitchenette with Gonta and Shirogane, with all it's grey-blue-red designs and mixing machines and pastry cookers.

"Gonta's parents tell him about... high tea?" Gonta asked, uncertainly. "Tea ceremonies?"

"They're actually different," Shirogane told him, a finger lifted elegantly. "High tea is much more of a European tradition, usually performed in the midday when entertaining guests, while tea ceremonies here have a much more spiritual aspect! While high tea tends to be a display of wealth, tea ceremonies are more about the actual act of drinking the tea than showing off other accessories."

"I see!" Gonta clasped his hands together, his eyes bright, meeting her with a smile that was just as strong. "Gonta wants to go to both, one day!"

Shirogane bowed her head, hands folded in front of her. "I've been trained in both, Gonta, so I would be happy to show you the etiquette."

Gonta had been so delighted that Kaede couldn't do anything but laugh. "Shirogane-san, that's so nice of you!" she said, smiling over at the maid. Kaede had always thought maid cafes were kind of gross and stupid, but now she kind of saw the appeal. Maybe it was just Shirogane, with that mature, cool air to her. Maybe it was just that she was very pretty.

"I'll do anything to make the lives of my classmates better!" the maid had said happily. "Akamatsu-san, you should join us!"

So she left the lab of the ultimate maid with plans for tea in a few days- Gonta stayed behind, Shirogane talking to him softly about different forms of china and how to accept a cup of tea as gracefully as possible.

The next lab she finds is Amami's- emerald green, wizard of Oz, filled with the most exciting, glittering things. He's down there with Iruma and Harukawa and Shinguji, who are all delightedly watching him perform and trying to guess the secrets to his tricks. He pulls a bouquet of roses from Kaede's clasped hands and then braids them into Shinguji's hair- which Iruma laughs at, and Kaede yells at her to stop being rude, which seems to trigger Iruma's need to make a nasty joke in self-defense, something about carpets and drapes- and Harukawa looks like she's considering each of them individually, but Amami just laughs it off and Shinguji ignores it with great elegance. 

"Hey, so where'd you learn to braid like that?" Iruma demanded, hands on her hips. "You some kinda stylist?"

Amami just shook his head, smiling down at the roses he threads through the long, dark silk of Shinguji's hair. "I used to style the hair of people I cared for quite a bit." He pulled his hands away, producing a ribbon from thin air with a flourish, and carefully tying the braids in place. "There! Shinguji-kun, you could be some kind of elven prince."

Shinguji carefully brushed down the tails of his coat, giving Amami a small smile as he moved to stand in front of a mirrored box- Amami spinning it and allowing the rest of them to watch Shinguji's figure morph and shrink until it settled on a proper reflection.

Iruma whistled. "Looking good, fairy!"

"Iruma-san," Kaede muttered, embarrassed, nudging her side. Iruma elbowed her back. Behind them, Harukawa sighed, heavily.

Despite the bickering, it was fun- Shinguji, for the first time, actually seemed a little more human, talking quietly about the kind of music played in circus shows and musician's themes, how a lot of it was derived from military marches. Harukawa never smiled, not once- but her constant frown smoothed a little when Amami set doves free from a handkerchief, and they must have been trained because he waved them over to flutter on her head and shoulders, and when she blinked in surprise, it seemed almost like she might laugh. Iruma laughed enough for all of them, though- and even she was too impressed to be too cruel, and kaede would be lying if she said she didn't laugh, too.

And next is Angie's- the moment Kaede steps in, she's surrounded by the sound of chittering. Although there's carefully arranged boxes of storage all along the walls, enclosures and cages set up with delicate, spiraling patterns on them that she doesn't recognize- several insects are already fluttering around the air. Kaede walks in on Angie carefully letting a grub creep over her palm, moving it to an old, hollow log toward the back of the room. 

Surprisingly, Hoshi is with her, seeming more interested in inspecting the set of note-taking equipment at the back of the room than in the bugs themselves. 

"I'm going to find places for them all in the lab itself," Angie informs them cheerfully, dragging in a pot of dirt it looks like she stole from outside. "I appreciate that they were kept in little boxes for me, but it's not natural! Any kind of sustainable ecosystem needs variety. I'm going to make sure they each have a proper habitat."

"Won't they just eat each other?" Hoshi, ever the cynic, looks up from a set of papers. 

Angie hums, all sapphire eyes and a smile like honey. "All these little friends originate from my island, so they're part of the same food chain! They'll eat each other, and they'll eat the plants here, and that's just life! It's the will of God, you know. A perfect life cycle- all things balanced." She lifts a finger, butterfly balancing on her nail. "Everything dies. It's about what we do while we're alive, no?" Her eyes crinkle, leaning forward to press her node to the butterfly's tiny head. Its wings pulse as she tilts her head, like she's giving it a kiss. "And if we do what God has taught us, we'll be forgiven once we die."

Hoshi snorts, snapping a book shut. "I'm already going to hell."

Kaede offers him a weak smile. "Who isn't?"

And even though that earns her a solid twenty minutes of lecture from Angie, and the promise that her god can purify all of Kaede's sins, she earns a surprised, gruff chuckle from the detective that makes it feel kind of worth it. Angie's lab is warm, full of artificial sun, and it's hard not to feel content there.

And then she moves upstairs in the main school.

The door at the end of the balcony is made of some dark, polished oak- smooth and nondescript, a star and a teardrop carved into the wood.

Kaede doesn’t get to see what’s beyond it, because before she can press her hand against the door handle, someone speaks up.

“I’d back off if you don’t want your fingers blown off.”

Kaede freezes, looks to her side. How did she miss him? Maybe it’s because the lighting is so dim down here- did he mess with the electrics for dramatic effect? She wouldn’t put it past him.

Ouma Kokichi, sprawled casually over the floor, just a little to the left of his lab. He’s leaning up against one of the pillars, one leg bent, the other draped casually over the floor. He’s flipping a monocoin, completely at ease, not even looking at her.

She looks down at him, and then back to the door, fingers poised, and then back down. 

“Wait,” she says, suddenly. “Is this your lab?”

Ouma’s smile curls around his face like a cat tail. “Bingo,” he says, flipping the coin again and putting it down on the flat of his hand. He checks the result, and then, like it meant anything, pockets it and stands up, making a show of stretching. 

Kaede looks back to the door. It’s so unassuming- just cool, dark wood in a dark hallway. But… that fits, right? Assassins are meant to be sneaky. 

Ouma is certainly sneaky, even if his personality is so loud she can’t decipher it. She’s still angry with him- both with his comments during the investigation and in the trial. But-  
If his lab is open, that’s. Dangerous. That’s really, really bad. She can’t even begin to imagine the sort of awful things it’s filled with.

Kaede takes a breath and smiles over at him. “Can I come in?”

“Why?” He asks. “So you can try and kill someone again?”

“I-” Kaede’s breath catches. It’s like someone’s poured cold water over her spirit.

Ouma watches her, almost disappointedly. “Yeah, I figured,” he says, clicking his tongue. “That’s why I had to spend most of the morning setting up traps! It’s a real pain, you know.” He huffs, crossing his arms and pouting childishly, like the implications of an ultimate _assassin’s_ lab being opened in the middle of a killing game is a mild inconvenience. “I don’t mind hanging out a few weapons, but some of this stuff could end the game so fast… and I don’t want people to brute force it, you know? Someone grabs a machine gun and takes down the rest of us…. I mean, how anticlimactic! We wouldn’t even get to do another super fun class trial!”

“Stop it,” Kaede says, wrapping her arms around herself, voice taut. “No one is going to do that.”

“Really?” Ouma tilts his head. “Because I would. I might, if I get bored. What’s to stop the rest of you?”

“Because we aren’t assassins!” Kaede snaps, her chest thrumming with anxious, angry energy. 

Ouma smiles, stepping forward. Their shoulders brush as he passes her- and she knows he did it on purpose.

“Didn’t stop you from trying to kill before, right?” He asks, casually- pausing with his handle on the door. “Nice plan, by the way. I wouldn’t have left the timing so up to chance, personally, but I guess it didn’t matter in the end.” 

He slips inside his lab, and Kaede can hear the sound of three locks clicking, a bolt sliding, a series of shuffles and pads. She stares at it, her chest tight, her stomach empty.

It’s a few minutes before she can bring herself to move away. Behind his heavy door, Ouma is completely silent.

But Kaede drags herself away, after a while, even if leaving him alone makes her spine creep. She has to keep going.

When she enters the ultimate tennis pro’s lab- and god, that’s a mouthful- Kaede isn’t surprised to see Momota already in the midst of a game, deep in combat with a robot shooting tennis balls as it slides from side to side in an irregular rhythm. 

“Hey!” He calls over, catching a ball in his net and sending it flying with a carefully aimed bounce, immediately meeting the next one with an almost elegant swing. “Akamatsu!”  
His legs are so long that it only takes him a few lunges to cross the court, meeting every ball with a confident hit. He makes it look easy, effortless- she doesn’t think he’s even sweating. “Turn off the machine and come talk!”

It’s a miracle anyone wants to talk to her still- and after Ouma, it’s a miracle that she needs. Kaede gives him a shaky smile- but if he notices the weakness of it, he says nothing, just gestures her over. Kaede approaches the machine carefully, half expecting it to turn and send a ball ricocheting into her head in some kind of karmic retribution- but, no. There's a big, obvious 'STOP' button, next to a few settings for difficulty, and she waits until the machine slides sideways before she switches it off. 

Momota lowers his raquet and wipes his forehead, grinning over at her. He coughs once, pats his chest, and then crosses over to pick up his stupidly oversized sports jacket to sling it back over one shoulder. (Seriously, how can you be roughly six foot and _still_ have a jacket that hangs from you like it was a hand-me-down? And why does he refuses to fit both arms inside??) "Alright, Akamatsu?" He asks, glancing about like he's looking for something.

Kaede can help with that, at least- she knows what you need after a workout, even if it seems like Momota was barely pushing himself. Reaching in her satchel, she withdraws a water bottle and offers it out. "Um, as well as you can, I guess?" How is she meant to answer that question?

Momota accepts it with a bright smile, thanking her before proceeding to pour basically the entire thing down his throat. It's almost impressive, how little he swallows. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing a little shallowly, and then passes it back over. "Hey, thanks! Good to know you're doing okay!" He fusses with the back of his hair, rubbing against what must be a crazy amount of hair gel. "Lot to process, huh?"

"Ha. You could say that..." Kaede trails off, slowly tucking the bottle back into her bag. She pauses as he gestures her over to come sit on one of the benches lining his lab, and moves to sit by him a little shyly, glancing around. It's decorated all purple and blue and red- even the tennis balls are white, or patterned with dots, or with an awful, holographic starry paint that might have been cool a few days ago but now just makes her think of Kiibo. "Um, your lab is open! That must be pretty exciting, right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah! Definitely!" His eyes spark, like any kind of unpleasant memories have just been washed away. She kind of admires that, even if it feels... disrespectful, almost, to be standing around and chatting idly while Kiibo rots somewhere. Maybe it's easier for Momota because he's not the one who almost killed somebody.  
He grins at her. "Did you watch much tennis, Akamatsu?"

"Ah, I grew up in the mountains, in a pretty small town... I watched a bit of sports when I was allowed to watch TV, but there wasn't much going on nearby." She feels a little awkward when she explains it- the stupid village girl who was only allowed to use the internet in the evenings, with the old phone model and the homemade clothes.  
But apparently, she's got no need to worry about that with Momota.

“Hey,” he says cheerfully. “We’ve got that in common! I grew up in the mountains, too!”

Somehow… that makes a lot of sense. Momota doesn’t exactly have the vibes of a super rural person, but- maybe it's his morals, his strong sense of character. Kaede recognizes the firm desire to protect in him- not just in herself, or in her mother, but in every person in her village.

"Look at us!" He goes on, and his genuine excitement to connect with her makes guilt dig itself deep into Kaede's gut, crawl up and pulse there like a wounded animal. "Small-town ultimates, huh? You know, people always told me I couldn't do it, that I was crazy, but-"

“I’m not an ultimate,” Kaede says, quietly. She shuts her eyes. “I cannot call myself an aikido master anymore. I took action to harm someone. I went against the core principles of my philosophy. I am no longer an aikido practitioner, therefore I no longer have any talent at all.”

Momota is quiet for a moment. Peeking up through her eyelashes, she sees him with his hands on his hips, head bowed. She thinks it’s the most she’s ever seen him think. 

“Then you’re like Harukawa then, right?” He grins, snapping his fingers. “The two of you should go hang out!”

Kaede laughs a little, despite herself, leaning back in her chair. “I, ah. I don’t know if she likes me very much.”

“Pssh!” Momota shakes his head. “She’s just got a tough exterior, that’s all! I get the sense she’s never had a good team with her, y’know? And now you’ve got something to bond over!”

“I guess.” Kaede swings one foot under the chair, watching the way her geta drag through the air. “It’s… not really the same though. Harukawa-san can’t remember her talent. I- it’s like I’ve _lost_ mine.” She shuts her eyes again, pressing a hand to her heart, listening for the rhythm. “It’s like I can’t feel it at all anymore. Like a piece of me is missing.” Opening her eyes to look back up at him, Kaede offers the player an empty smile. “I guess so much of my identity has been dedicated to my talent. If I’m not an ultimate…. I don’t really know what I am.” 

Certainly not an aikido freak, anymore.

Momota frowns again, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his silly, oversized sports jacket slipping off his shoulder.  
Then he brightens again.  
“Well, Kaede!” He says, and she barely has time to blink at the sudden switch to her first name before he’s swinging an arm over her shoulders, “you don’t need to worry about all that! You can just be my sidekick!”

“Your- sidekick?” Kaede asks, tilting her head a little awkwardly against his arm. He’s so much taller than her that she’s ended up almost squished into his armpit. She does her best not to inhale through her nose.

Momota nods triumphantly, holding his other hand up in a thumbs up. “Every good hero needs a sidekick, right? You’re like- the lone ninja who killed her clan, come to join me in your path for atonement!”

“I think you watch too much shounen, Momota-kun,” Kaede tells him, but she can’t help a smile from tugging at her mouth. Her mother would think that was ridiculous.

“Call me Kaito,” he tells her, with a wink that somehow manages to make her think of her dad, despite not having one. “Since you’re my sidekick now, we’ve gotta stick pretty close together if we want to bring down the ringleader!”

Kaede considers the offer- or, well, demand. On one hand, she’s not incredibly keen on being anyone’s sidekick; especially not some boy with absolutely zero self-discipline. Aikido is about teamwork. The only person in charge is your mentor.

On the other hand, it’s not like she’s been living particularly strictly by the art of peace, lately. And the offer of having someone else to rely on, especially with.... Everything with Saihara…. It’s appealing.

Kaede rolls her eyes and pushes herself up onto her tiptoes so she can mess with Momota- Kaito’s overly gelled hair. “Okay… Kaito,” she says, and then breaks into a giggle. “What’s our first mission then, oh fearless leader?”

“To go get lunch!” He says cheerfully, dragging her along by the arm. 

She keeps up.

\--

That evening, Momota invited her out to ‘train’ with him- which really amounted to her doing an innumerable amount of situps while he critiqued her, unmoving, from a bench in his lab.

After the one hundred and fiftieth pushup in a very short timeframe, Kaede grew a little fed up.

“I already told you I’m not an aikido master anymore,” she huffed at him, stopping to sit up and cross her arms. “I don’t see why _I’m_ the one doing all the work here. I might be your “sidekick”-” and here she’d actually made airquotes, a little snappy- because guilt and self-doubt and a genuine appreciation for his kindness might all be there, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t fed up with a series of workouts that her mother never would have had her do without much gentler guidance. “-but you’re not my mentor. And this isn’t really supporting the sort of muscles you want to build for aikido.”

Kaito had just smiled, laying next to her. “Well, I figured if you didn’t want to do aikido anymore- you could just train in something else!”

“I’m not picking up another martial art,” she’d said. “I’m done with combat. I just-”

He’d sat up to meet her, still grinning. “I meant tennis,” he said. 

Kaede blinked.

“You’re my sidekick now! And you’re already tough as hell, and smart, and strong- so there’s not really much I can teach you. In fact, I’m gonna have to rely on you for a lot, I know it! But that’s okay, because sidekicks are often really powerful on their own,” he explained, still grinning away. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t help you out! So, I figure I’ll teach you how to play tennis. Then, when we get out of here, and you don’t wanna be an aikido master- you can come play tennis with me! And we can go into doubles together.”

He’d been smiling the whole time he said it, like it was no big deal. Like it was easy to offer, easy to give. Like he really wanted Kaede to stick around.

“I thought a lot about what you said, y’know,” he said, and for the first time, he faltered, looking almost awkward. “I.. I wanna be friends with everyone, when we get out of here.” Rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze drifted away- then back, and his smile was back, easy as anything. Like Kaede’s actions were no big deal. Like he thought she was- worth being friends with, even now. “And it’d be super cool if we could work together!”

“Don’t women and men have separate tennis leagues?” Kaede asked, but the anger was all drained by now. 

Kaito waved a hand like he was dismissing the idea. “We can get around it, I bet. Just think! We’d knock everyone’s socks off. We’re a really tough duo, right? You and me, Akamatsu. Just depend on me and I’ll get us all out of here!”

And Kaede had wanted to say _that’s what I said, and it wasn’t true,_ and she’d wanted to say _please learn from my mistakes,_ and she’d wanted to say _how are you still so hopeful?_

But her voice got caught in her throat. She couldn’t even find it in herself to nod.

“Give me ten more!” Kaito had said, and she thought of her mother- asking her to strike again and again at the same pads, to lunge into the same fall a hundred times until her form was perfect.

Kaede gave him fifty more, and then she played against that tennis robot (beginner setting) until her arms felt like they were going to fall out and Kaito was cheering her on loud enough that they would have woken everyone if they hadn’t been separated from the dorms.

And the next night, they trained again- Momota asked for tips from aikido, and she taught him about how to channel ki, and then talked about how disconnected she felt from her own, now, and he'd told her, eyes blazing, that he knew it would return to her- and then he made her play tennis against the robot again and cheered from the sidelines. The night after, too. Kaede falls asleep exhausted and drained and it's almost enough to keep her dreams from being anything coherent- she's at least tired enough that when she wakes, fitful, tangled in her sheets, sleep pulls her back down swiftly.   
She visits Amami during the day and watches him perform, and then she goes to check on Chabashira and tries to pretend the inventor's quiet voice doesn't break her heart. She has tea with Shirogane and Gonta, twice, and then plans to do it again. She visits her lab and doesn't train, but tries to meditate, tries to return to some kind of peace that might be of assistance to her classmates. She watches Ouma's lab with anxious eyes. It feels like, maybe, she could begin to heal like this, between tea and doves released from hats and tennis lessons and meditating in a patch of sun.

There’s one more day of peace before Monokuma decides to ruin everything all over again.

Kaede wakes up and mostly ignores the morning announcements, as per usual, hearing them without listening as she combs through her hair and pulls it into her usual pigtails, scrunchie held in her mouth as she stares at a stop on the opposite wall. 

And then, instead of signing off, Monokuma says “hey, you! ...Goddammit. Kids these days. I can tell none of you are listening, y’know!”

Kaede glances up at the monitor. She swears Monokuma meets her eye.

The bear tilts its head to the side. “You know, it’s in your best interests to listen up- we all saw what happened the last time you ignored my _generous_ first motive.” Kaede clenches her hands and tries not to shudder, staring up at the monitor with a hatred she’s become used to suppressing. Monokuma leans back in his couch, lifting a glass of orange juice in something like a toast. “Welcome to the second- well, third, technically- motive!” His red eye glints as he points to something on the corner of the screen- some kind of projector flickering on to show an image of something like a monopad, only splattered with color. “I suggest you all collect 'em from the gift boxes by your door. And be careful with them! These babies is pretty important, you know. You'll wanna keep em real close to you, alright?" It's a broadcast, and it's a robot, and it's a recording, but the eye contact only seems to grow in intensity. "They're a good reminder of why you wanna play along."

The monitor flickers with static, shuts off with a click. Kaede finally tears her eyes away, a tremble running down her legs. When did she tense up?

The gift box is sitting by her door, just like he said. The idea that Monokuma crept into her room makes her uneasy beyond words, but- she supposes she knew he could do that, logically, on some level. Still, it's an unpleasant reminder. 

Kaede thinks of Schrodinger and his cat, and for a moment she wonders if she can just leave the box as is- unopened, unknowing. Out of sight, out of mind. It's not a motive to kill if she doesn't know the motive.  
But, for the others' sake, at least, she's got to keep going. She's got to find out everything she can. 

When she opens the box, she withdraws the same not-monopad shown on the monitor. There only appears to be one button, and after turning it over a few times, it seems that the only thing to do is switch it on.

 _"Akamatsu Kaede!"_ Monokuma's voice calls, and she leans back instinctively as the screen flickers to life, a still picture of the bear in the corner. _"Welcome to the ultimate aikido master's motive pad!"_

Not an aikido master anymore. Kaede frowns down at it. 

_"This motive video will show you the person most important to you!"_ It continues. _"The person who needs you the most right now!"_

Kaede fully expects to see her mother- that's who, right? Her mother, with her kind eyes and her firm voice and her steady hands. Sitting in their dojo, maybe, or or out in the gardens. 

But when the pad clicks onto the next slide, the face that stares up at her might as well be a mirror.

 _"Akamatsu Momo,"_ Monokuma chirps, as if she wouldn't recognize her, as if she wouldn't know, immediately. _"The Akamatsu sisters were twins, raised to a set of parents who expected nothing but the best of them! ...Unfortunately, as they aged, it became clear that the busy adults didn't have time to care for two children- and the less talented daughter, Kaede, was sent away to live with her aunt! Kaede hasn't seen her dear sister since she was seven! The visits just... stopped."_

How. How does it know this. How does- who could- 

The image changes, suddenly- the girl, blankfaced, icy eyes, is no longer staring at the camera with a smug smile. Now she's crumpled, curled up at a desk, balls of screwed up paper scattered around her. The sliver of her face that's visible above her arm looks empty- for a moment, Kaede wonders if she's dead.   
And then, just staring at the image, memories spark in her mind.

_"-Ultimate hunt-"_

_"Hasn't spoken in days."_

_"Why would they target her?"_

_"Kaede, please, please just-"_

She drops the pad, squinting against the light pouring in her eyes. Her heart pounds, she's left reeling, staring at the bits and pieces she can't quite link together. What... What happened? What does the ultimate hunt have to do with her sister? Why did her voice sound so broken? Why-

Why can't she remember any more?

Her sister, clinging to her arm. Years without seeing her. Her mother's voice. A teacher she'd trusted. Sun glinting on Momo's face. Flashes of conversations. A sense of panic. 

The motive pad, lying on the floor, keeps playing. _"After their years of silence, Kaede and Momo were reunited! Unfortunately, shortly after their meeting, Momo was left utterly devastated by unforeseen events! Doctors have said that it's unlikely her mental stability will ever recover, and the once promising girl has withdrawn and withered away."_

Kaede stares at the picture, chest heaving. The screen cracked, just a little, down the corner.

 _"What affected Akamatsu Momo so? What can be done to help her? What did Kaede have to do with it? All these questions and more will be answered upon graduation."_ Monokuma's laugh echoes from the screen, like a reed flute in a long corridor. 

The motive pad switches itself off. Kaede stares at it, shaking. She leans down. She picks it up. She traces her fingers over the crack in the corner.

Kaede watches the video four more times before she can bring herself to go and meet the others.

\--

Ouma Kokichi wakes up in a nest of blankets. He stretches. Kicks his feet out. Lets the morning announcement play to its full length, takes the time to remember where he is and what he has to do.

The moment he slips out of bed, he’s thinking.

Kokichi fusses with the blankets, double checks the temporary lock on the door. He’s sleeping in his lab, obviously, because a master assassin like himself is not stupid enough to let a whole room full of extremely dangerous items go unchecked in a killing game. That would be super crazy dumb. Like, Iruma-level dumb. (No point in making things more exciting if they’re just going to send everything burning down around you- that’s his logic. He wants this game to linger, to last. He wants to enjoy every last second of it.)  
A master assassin like himself also has a little bit of hardware knowledge, and managed to bang up a latch and shove an armchair against the door- it’s enough that he feels safe leaving it for a few minutes to go and get food, that he feels safe taking quick one-hour naps just to make sure he’s not losing his mind. A master assassin can go without sleep, but also knows it isn’t preferable. 

It is a few weeks into their lovely killing game. Three days ago, Akamatsu attempted murder just before their time limit and H1M1 The Weird capitalized on it. 

Three days ago, Kokichi broke into Kiibo's room during the investigation, and then into Harukawa's.

Two days ago, Kokichi’s lab opened up. 

Kokichi double checks that nothing about his door has moved or changed, and then heads further into the lab to clean up a little. There’s no shower here, so he settles for a damp cloth and a change of clothes and a LOT of deodorant. Maybe too much. It’s grape flavored, waiting specially in his dorm room just for him, along with his favourite hair dye and his favourite colored eyeliner pens- the ones he only uses when he’s putting on a show, really enjoying himself, the sort of thing he never has time to usually wear. So many lovely, favourite things, just waiting for him. All the others have equally personalized toiletries. He smells like grape, Akamatsu like strawberries, weirdo Saihara like mint, gross Iruma like cherries. It’s very convenient, you see. This way, in the dark, if one of them crept up on him he could smell who it was just as they ripped out his spine. All these sweet, light, personal things. All set up for them. (He knows, because he’s broken in and out of all the other dorms. He knows that the girls tend to have makeup set out, all in different brands, that some people have extra piercings provided, that Saihara has a whole drawer of just more masks. It’s so sweet of their captors to provide them comforts like this. So thoughtful. So kind. So incredibly, incredibly suspicious. Kokichi has a million questions that no one else seems to have even considered- except Kiibo, and see where that got him. Did he see his stars when H1M1 knocked his skull in?)

He loves it, though, loves the mystery. That’s him! Super-high-school-level-assassin-chan! As cruel as he is cute! So, so mean, no respect for the dead or the living. Kokichi wishes he had a mirror to admire himself in as he twists his fingers through his hair. He checks all the multi-colored buttons on his sweater, dusts down his skirt, tightens the straps on his pants. It’s a chaotic outfit, sure, but hey, at least it’s something to look at. Some people in here could really learn a thing or two about how to dress from him. Looking at you, mysterious, broody Harukawa. There are a few things you could learn from Kokichi. The fashion is the most important, sure, but you might also want to pick up lying lessons. You’ve got some of these idiots fooled, but not him. He’s sure ultimate shrimp detective would have called her out ages ago, but that boy isn’t into anything but smoking his lungs out and pulling himself together at the last second. Too convenient, that would be. No, they have to rely on a would-be murderer and an anthropologist with social anxiety to direct trials, apparently. Or not. Kokichi hasn’t been leaving his lab much lately because, again, dangerous objects and killing games are not ideal friends, but even he can tell that the vibes between those two are just frosty. Saihara, and his plan to catch the mastermind. Akamatsu, determined to ruin it. Kokichi, who knew from the beginning that it would have failed, anyway. He’s still impressed, though. At least they did something, you know? At least they’re not sitting around like the rest of these ducklings and waiting for open season. 

…..Not that Kokichi can talk, considering the ‘can’t leave his lab’ thing and all. 

But just because he’s not leaving it doesn’t mean he’s not being active! No, Kokichi has been plotting. Plotting and planning and scheming, like anyone would expect from him. Fortunately for them, Kokichi only takes jobs that he’s been paid upfront for. If he started killing people for free, he’d flood the market! Ruin the stocks. The whole economy would come crashing down- rich people do spend so much money on assassinations, you know. It would just turn everything into shambles. 

Besides, why work for free? Ouma Kokichi always gets paid. 

He thinks about Kiibo the deceased again. It’s not a flattering thought. Why should it be? He got himself killed. No use for all those brains if you don’t care that they’re going to end up smashed into the wood floors of the library. 

Kokichi stretches- arms, legs, lunges, squats. No slacking, even in a place like this! Gotta keep limber, gotta keep quick. That’s what he tells all his proteges- if you wanna be the best, you can only ever slack after a job well done. His work slips in cycles, fighting for scraps, emerging victorious, something like luxury for a week before some other disaster needs handled. And Kokichi always handles them.

He’s popping his shoulders when he hears a series of raps on the wood of the door to his lab.  
That’s new. 

"Cooooooming!" He calls out, sing-song, double checking his general appearance. He's going to need to go out soon. Grab some more food. Stock up on shit from the store. Shower. 

Kokichi slots and reslots the set of bolts, shoves and replaces the chair, is careful not to unbalance the heavy pots on the top of the door. He avoids the glitter bomb, unsheathes a set of snake hooks to brute force his way out of the door. It takes him a solid four minutes to actually get out without disturbing everything, and it'll take him longer to get back in- but far be it from him to turn away an obvious opportunity to get someone to do his chores!"

Kokichi slips outside, carefully shutting the door. When he looks up, he's met with the shifty eyes of an anthropologist, hand on his chest.  
Huh.

Prior to the first trial, Kokichi had very little opinion on Saihara. He was more preoccupied with causing problems, and out of the students that caught his eye, Saihara was easily overshadowed by Akamatsu and her naive wit. All contradictions, that girl. They should have seen it coming, really. But the trial... Kokichi would be lying if he said he wasn't a little curious now. He might have sought Saihara out earlier, if he hadn't been distracted.

"Ouma-kun," Saihara says, quietly. "Um. Is this a good time?"

"You're lucky," he tells him. "You've caught me right before my mid-morning meeting! Gotta check in with all my devoted staff, you know?"

"...Right." 

Kokichi waits, patiently, but it doesn't seem as if Saihara's going to say anything more. 

"Is there something you wanted?" He asks, all false innocence and wide smiles. "Where's Akamatsu-chan? You broke up?"

"N-no," Saihara stutters, and he blushes despite himself, pulling at his mask like that'll hide fucking anything. "Um. I've just. I haven't been hanging out with her. Lately."

God, he's so awkward. It's sad. Sad and boring. Kokichi bats his eyes, pouting in fake sympathy. "It's been awkward, huh?"

“Ah, yes, well…” Saihara’s voice is already muffled through his mask, but he likes to place another hand over his mouth when he gets really nervous. His eyes are all shifty, too, like he’s putting up as many barriers between his own words and Kokichi as possible. 

Kokichi tilts his head to the side, smiling sweetly. “Saihara-chan is thinking about how it would be easier if Akamatsu had just _died,_ isn’t he?” He slides a thumb up against the blade of the knife, tapping his thumb against the tip. If Saihara came for comfort, he’s not going to get it. Kokichi is not a comforting person- you’d have to be crazy to think that he would be.  
Saihara, might, though. Be crazy. Or think that Kokichi is a nice person. 

But that’s just because Saihara is a freak with a thing for would-be murderers. Kokichi was pretty confident he was into Akamatsu before the whole trial thing. Saihara is a freak with some trauma about showing his face, who can’t connect to other humans like a regular person, who is absolutely on some kind of spectrum. (Kokichi would know. He has great personal experience with all sorts of fun diagnoses used to deny you agency.) Saihara is also cleverer than he would have thought, observational in dangerous ways, and had the guts to betray his friend -twice- for the sake of the group.  
Before that trial, Kokichi would have never given him a second thought. Right now… Saihara is interesting. Entertaining. Not boring. 

“What?” Saihara says, his eyes going wide. “That- no! No, I don’t-”

Kokichi holds up a finger, rocking back on his feet. “Ah, ah, ah. I didn’t say Saihara-chan wanted her to die. I just said it would be easier.” He enjoys the expression he gets- pupils small, gaze shallow, jaw probably slack under that dark fabric. He taps the knife against his cheek. Other assassins might be more careful with their own weapons, but Kokichi isn’t other assassins. He’s a caricature of himself. He’ll be as crazy as they want him to be. (Almost. He’s not about to play into this game. Not how they would like him to, at least.) “You care about Akamatsu-chan a lot, right? But she betrayed you. She went behind your back and did something awful. And you still care about her, so much, but you keep thinking about the awful thing she did. If she’d died, she would have sacrificed herself, and her whole speech about dragging you out of your shell would be a bittersweet memory to keep you going. But she’s still here. And she still betrayed you. And every time you look at her, you think about how it felt to realize that.”

“I- I-” Saihara looks terrified. He looks more scared than he had been with a knife against his throat. 

Kokichi looks away, just to give the guy some space. He inspects the blade again, letting Saihara relax without the weight of eyes on him. “Akamatsu-chan wanted to martyr herself. But she failed! So sad. Do you think she’ll try again?” And he looks up, once more, fixes his heavy, evil eyes right back onto Saihara’s face. “She’s all clingy with Momota now. I wonder what plans the two of them will come up with. If she’ll go behind his back like she went behind yours.” He laughs. His laugh has always sounded wheezy, but that’s what makes it so genuine. That and the crinkles under his eyes, Duchenne smile- it’s easy to fake if you know what you’re doing. He wonders if Saihara has studied all about what makes humans smile. “What a shame. You can’t trust Akamatsu anymore, so you come to me, instea-”

“That’s wrong!” 

Kokichi blinks. Huh? Huh? Wow. He’s probably making a pretty stupid face right now, all blank and rigid. He’s surprised! He sure is surprised. Saihara’s eyes are burning, now, and his voice isn’t stammery at all. 

“I still trust Akamatsu,” Saihara says, gripping at his own chest. “I still think she’s a good person. But I… I don’t want to burden her.” His eyes dip down, slightly, and then he shuts them, and his whole face is cut off- no moving mouth, no open eyes, nothing to read. “I want to keep trying to find the ringleader. I want to keep doing everything I can, I just… I don’t ever want to put her in a position like that again.” He bites his lip. 

Kokichi considers Saihara. It doesn’t seem like he’s lying- but even if Kokichi can catch twenty lies out of twenty, he’s not one to rest on his laurels. Clearly, someone here is lying. Who’s to say it’s not him?

“What if _she’s_ the ringleader?” He challenges. 

Saihara shakes his head, firmly. “She’s not. She’s not. I can just tell. She’s a good person,” he repeats.

Kokichi narrows his eyes. “Good people don’t immediately jump to murder as a solution.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Saihara’s slate eyes flick sideways to him, then away, then back again. “Ah, Ouma-kun,” he murmurs. “I… I actually meant to ask you about that.”

“Hm?” He tilts his head to the side. “I’m all ears, beloved Saihara-chan.”

Saihara stares at him for a moment, like he’s working up to something. “You… you’ve been particularly critical of Akamatsu-san about that… more than other people have. You talk like you find it disgusting, but… you’re an assassin.” His brow furrows, and the eyes go down again, then back up. “I was just wondering-”

“You’re wondering if I’m a horribly abused child forced to murder people for the gain of the rich?” Kokichi cuts in, turning his head sweetly. Saihara flushes pink. 

“H-historically, assassins are usually, um. Slaves. And you’re so young, so I just…”

Kokichi watches him. Saihara is too observational for his own good, really. Depending on how Kokichi responds to this, he could get caught in a lie- or worse, Saihara will think he’s soft. Or both. 

It’s a good thing Kokichi doesn’t make mistakes. He slips the knife into his sleeve and twists his fingers through his hair. “Well, you’re right.” Eyes dip down, bites his bottom lip and lets his teeth shake for that illusion of uncomposure, holding his eyes open until they sting and then blinking rapidly as he lifts his head. “I- I was kidnapped from my family when I was young, and I- oh, Saihara-chan, I’m forced to do such _awful_ things.” Kokichi suddenly lunges forward, swallows the way Saihara yelps and almost falls against the railing. Clinging to the anthropologist’s arm, he sniffles as he looks up at him, taking advantage of his own height for that extra vulnerability. “Saihara-chan, I’m so scared! Please don’t make me go back! I don’t want this killing game to end, because then I’ll have to go back to my killing life- please, I’m so scared!”

“O-Ouma-kun…” Saihara’s eyes are wide as lightbulbs, glinting a little gold in the dim light. Kokichi can see the twitch of something beneath his mask. Hesitantly, a hand settles on his back-  
And Kokichi, who has pulled this exact stunt so many times that it’s getting a little boring, slips his own hands into Saihara’s pockets and pulls out a fistful of instant coffee sachets. He dances back triumphantly, juggling the packets through the air and whistling cheerfully. “Wow, five in the left pocket? Planning for a busy night, Saihara-chan?”

“I-” Saihara’s eyes stutter up and down. Kokichi watches, waiting for the moment that it settles on him that he was tricked. This part isn’t boring at all.  
He crosses his arms, almost defensively. “If… you’re going to be up guarding your lab, I guess you can keep them?” He says. Saihara looks so tired. 

Kokichi answers him the best way he can- with laughter. “Don’t get me wrong-” And he looks up, now, calls up a little of the darkness behind his eyes, curls his mouth into a smirk that is nothing but threatening. “I _do_ enjoy my work. I’m not a prisoner, Saihara.” He drops the smirk, goes for haughty instead, brushes back his bangs. “Akamatsu doesn’t bother me because she’s a murderer. She bothers me because she’s a hypocrite.”

Saihara is still watching him, hesitant, curious. “Ah, I… I see.”

“All that talk about teamwork and friendship and cooperation- only to break so easily? Please. I hate hypocrites, Saihara-chan. Almost as much as I hate liars.” And it’s true. It’s true.

Kokichi hates liars and hypocrites the most. He loves irony, though. 

_(Dramatic irony- a dramatic device wherein the audience is aware of something one or more characters are not. Usually used for humor, but often tragic.)_

He’s laughing. 

“Say, Saihara.” Kokichi sways forward, hands hanging out in front of him like his puppet-strings have been cut. Saihara leans back; but not out of fear, no, it’s more like he wants a better angle, is tilting his head to assess Kokichi fully. (Of course, there’s a _little_ fear there- Saihara is smart, and smart people know to be scared of Kokichi, especially in intimate quarters where he’s allowed to run his mouth and has something he needs to win.)

Saihara tugs at his mask like he’s straightening it, brow furrowed. “Yes, Ouma-kun?”

Kokichi twists his mouth up into a smile. He’s pleased. “I have this problem. See, I need to go and annoy Momota-chan, because I haven’t done that yet today. But I also have this issue with my lab.” He jerks his head back at the door closed behind him. “I have, eh, roughly half my usual amount of traps set up, but it’s not really enough, y’know? And I have some _preeeeeeetty_ nasty stuff in there.” Kokichi lifts a finger to his lips. “And we don’t want people getting their grubby little paws on those, huh? You don’t want Akamatsu to snap and kill everyone with a machine gun she doesn’t know how to use. I don’t want the game to end in such a boring and early way. You see my issue?” Maybe he’ll try and arrange some weapons out for the others at some point. Carefully placed to cause a little trouble. Kokichi thinks of his motive video and smiles wider, because it’s better than gritting his teeth. He bets the people running this shitshow had his storyline all planned out, huh? Watch the wolf among the sheep. The sheep in the wolves. Kill or be killed, right?

Saihara, sheep and wolf at once, nods. “You want me to watch your lab, right?”

“If you would!” Kokichi bats his eyelashes. “I don’t really mind if you break in yourself, y’know! I think you’re smart enough to make a pretty entertaining trial!” He swings back on the heels of his boots, the metal plates on them tapping against the floor. “But I won’t tell you how to get past the traps. You’ll have to do that yourself.”

Saihara frowns at him, a flash of something interesting in his eyes. “I’m not going to do that,” he says, stubbornly. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“It’s fun, easy, and free!” Kokichi chirps. He sways forward. Saihara sways back.

“But not free for you, right?” The anthropologist counters. “You said before that you don’t kill for free. That means that you must put some sort of value on it.”

“About fifty-thousand dollars,” Kokichi hums in response. He reaches for Saihara’s pockets again. Saihara catches his wrist, and he acts surprised. (He’s a little surprised. He keeps underestimating his assertiveness. Maybe it’s because it’s more fun to be taken by surprise.)

Saihara tilts his head. “Not yen?”

“Most of my employers come from overseas.” Kokichi lifts his spare hand in surrender. Saihara’s glove stays tight around his wrist, some kind of soft felt. “Are you planning to let me go?”

Saihara’s eyes flick down to their linked hands, then back up to his face. “Are you planning to do something if I don’t?”

Kokichi laughs. “Mayyyyyyyyybe.”

Saihara looks down again. Then up. Then down. Then up.

Kokichi smiles.

Saihara lets him go, slowly. 

“It was a lie, you know,” Kokichi tells him. 

“Which part?”

“I’m employed pretty much only by the government, at this point.” He steps back, feels the way Saihara watches him as he reaches in his own pockets, pulls out a wrapped candy, and slowly twists the plastic away, taking his time with it. “Because of the whole ‘ultimate’ thing. It’s a good contract, but restrictive.”

Saihara nods, slowly. “You must have had a previous employer, though, right?”

“There’s a guild,” Kokichi replies, popping the sticky sweet between his teeth. Raspberry flavoring soaks through his tongue, burning and sour. “We span aaaaaall over the world. Did you know there’s at least two assassins in any city at any given point in time? It’s true! You have no idea how much death was actually traded on.”

Nodding again, Saihara presses a hand against his mask, thoughtful. Is he really that interested in Kokichi’s employment? Is he trying to assess something more? “I’ve heard of things like that, I think. They… train you and keep you safe? And work is booked through them?”

“Wowww,” Kokichi coos, false impression on his face. “I didn’t know Saihara-chan was so knowledgeable! Are you looking to hire someone, huh?” He flicks his hair back, bubbles of laughter spilling around them. “Now, I won’t kill for you in here, because it won’t count… but hey, if we get out, I’m sure we could negotiate.” Kokichi’s gaze drifts sideways, watching his own fingers tug through his hair, before he snaps it back, sly. “I can tell that you’d use death responsibly.”

Saihara reacts… interestingly, to that offer. He shrinks back, eyes shrunk, terrified. All frozen up. The hand on his mouth spreads out, fingers sinking over his mouth.  
Oh? _Oh?_ Saihara-chan, what makes you so afraid of that? Is this Akamatsu? H1M1? Kiibo? Some other kind of guilt? Very good acting?

Kokichi laughs again, finger to his lips. “It’s a compliment,” he says (although it isn’t), taking one slow step back, and then another, and then turning to leave. “Well, take good care of my lab! If any problems pop up, you’re the first to die.”

“Ouma-kun,” Saihara says. 

Kokichi pauses mid-walk. He turns slowly, on one heel, and then sets both his feet down at once, the _thump_ of his boots echoing through the hall.  
“What,” he says, smiling.

Saihara hesitates. Pulls at his mask. Looks at the floor. “If you need someone to watch your lab again, that’s okay,” he says. “I won’t try to break in, or anything. And I know you probably won’t trust me, but. I want to help keep everyone alive. So… I’m happy to help watch it.” 

Kokichi looks at him for a long moment. Saihara is full of surprises, with his mask pulled up to his cheekbones and his eyes that flicker and change and his brows that pull in and sink out. What’s the point of covering half your face if the other half is just as expressive without it? If Kokichi wanted to block out his emotions, his eyes would be the first thing he went for.  
(So, he kinda figures that Saihara has something specific about his mouth. He notices the way he doesn’t like to raise his voice, the way he is soft and tender and words things gently. Kokichi notices a lot of things.)

Saihara wants to help the others. Or he wants to make them think he wants to help the others. If he’s the one behind this, he’s doing a good job. (Although, Kokichi has to give whoever it is props. They’re an _excellent_ liar.)

“Hey,” he says, giving Saihara the kind of once-over he’d give to a target in the corners of a club, someone with their pockets filled and their rose glasses on. “Where are you hiding when you avoid everyone else?”  
Saihara blinks. Kokichi’s mouth curls up, instinctual, unbidden, the thrill of a good play in a game. He lifts a finger to it, watches his opponent squirm. “You’re not in your room. I know, ‘cos I’ve broken in. And you’re not with the others. And you’re _certainly_ not anywhere near Akamatsu-chan.”

Kokichi knows the best way to assess someone is to watch how they react to a surprise. He watches how Saihara’s eyes widen, blanche, and then crease again. How they look away for a moment, like he can’t collect himself and maintain eye contact at the same time. Saihara, Kokichi thinks, is a terrible liar. It’s a shame, really- he’d learned a long time ago that lying is the only way to keep yourself together under stress. Nothing’s okay? No shit. Make it okay. 

Saihara, transparent as glass, folds a hand over his arm. Hugs it against himself. Vulnerable. In need of comfort. Weak. (You can’t afford to be weak here.)

“I’m in the library,” he says, and his voice is low, and quiet, but it’s steady, and when his eyes meet Kokichi’s- well. That might just be the poor lighting. “I watch the ringleader’s door.”

Kokichi tilts his head to the side, the gesture carefully balanced. “But won’t they already know that you’re doing that? They know you’re suspicious, at least.”

“So what?” Saihara asks, still in that steady voice- his trial voice, like he has something to prove here. “That just means they can’t use it while I’m there. If I can make things a little more inconvenient for them… that’s good.”

Kokichi links his fingers together, flexes them against his waist. “All alone?”

“You’ve already said why you won’t kill me,” Saihara replies, eyes flashing. And then; “not yet, at least.”

Haha. Not yet. 

Kokichi waves a hand carelessly, turns away again, calls out over his shoulder. “Waste your time down there all you like. You’re missing all the action.”

And that’s not a lie. Trying to make the ringleader’s life more difficult is mildly useful, but it’s stupid. You won’t achieve anything by lying in wait and never pouncing. Kokichi’s pretty sure they have a second base, or at least a second entrance. Everything about this place screams _prepared._ Saihara won’t trick them so easily, so what’s the bother?

Saihara’s voice catches him, though. “I know you don’t trust me,” he says. “That’s fine. I don’t trust you, either. That’s why I’m watching your lab.”  
Kokichi turns again- and then again, and again, twirling on his feet as he walks backward. Saihara’s figure flashes in his eyes- ever shrinking as he moves back, growing darker and more faint.  
“Perfect,” he says, smiling until it hurts his cheeks. “That just makes the game more fun.”

“You say that,” Saihara says, “like you expect people to trust you. After everything already?”

Kokichi wiggles his fingers for the last turn, and then drops his hand. His boots click-click-click over the floor, the sound intentional and loud. “Saihara-chan,” he calls over his own shoulder. “Maybe you just come off more naive than you want to.”

Saihara laughs.  
For some reason, it lingers on the back of Kokichi’s neck.  
“Good!” He calls back. “Half the battle is perception, right?”

It’s probably some reference to a historical figure Kokichi doesn’t know. Or it’s a bluff, to some historical figure he doesn’t know. The point is, he doesn’t know.  
But Ouma Kokichi always knows.  
(And if he doesn’t know, he lies until everyone’s convinced he does. Staying one step ahead is half knowledge and half _very_ good acting.)

“Saihara-chan!” He yells, and now he looks back, and he gives the anthropologist one of his sweetest smiles. “You’re talking to a liar, remember?”

Whatever Saihara does say in reply is mumbled and hard to decipher. But that’s fine. 

Kokichi has more important things to do.

\--

Kaito, who is determined to "break through" to Saihara, leaves Kaede after breakfast- or, well, he asks if she wants to come, and she leaves him. She doesn't really think Saihara wants or needs to be flanked by two people at once... and she _knows_ he's been avoiding her. Besides, it's been a while since she went to check in on the others...  
It's been about three days. It feels like a lifetime. 

There's a lot of people Kaede wants to catch up with- Ouma is at the top of her list, really, there's a lot she needs to sort out there. There is still so much unsaid to Chabashira, but... maybe she should give her space? Harukawa, Hoshi, Tojo- the quiet and reserved and fascinating, people she wants to try and decipher. 

But she's kind of surprised by how much she misses Kaito's presence when he goes. It's an odd feeling, to realize that you don't trust yourself alone anymore. She doesn't want to be alone, but she doesn't want herself to be alone, either. In these empty classrooms, each one so similar and so overgrown and so twisted, she starts losing track of which one she's in. Her eyes drift to the floor, to vents. The satchel at her side starts to feel heavy, like something's weighing it down.   
She feels blood on her fingertips. There's no reason she should, but she does.

She thinks of looking for Amami, who reminds her a little of Kaito with his good-natured older brothering, or for Angie, who always has a cheerful handful of words and a distraction at hand. 

So, she's not sure why she ends up moving over to the bench outside the dining hall the second she spots Iruma sitting there. 

Iruma immediately tells her to fuck off and stop blocking the sun. She's trying to sunbathe, apparently- still in full uniform, even her tiny chains all still linked together. She's not exactly the most comforting presense.

Still, Kaede sits down.

They talk about their motive videos, for a while. Part of Kaede feels almost like she shouldn't- like she's talking about a secret santa, or a test score. But that, the not-quite-allowed tinge to their conversation, feels almost more comforting. Something about Iruma's company- maybe the bickering, maybe the way she insults Kaede's clothes or fiddles with her bracelets- makes it feel like they're really classmates, like the atmosphere is a little more comfortable- sitting together in this awful school, knees not quite bumping on the bench. Kaede talks about her sister. Iruma talks about her friend- a boy she met online a long time ago, the person who got her into anime, who bought her her first wig cap.

"I don't know," Iruma says, after they've stopped giggling at one of her stories about the time the two of them got banned from the minecraft server. "I don't... I mostly just hang out online, I guess. It's where all the cool people are- you can find people with the same interests as you instantly! No fucking around like in the real world. If someone approaches me on the street I tell them to fuck off! But online, you know why they're coming to talk to you, y'know?" She fiddles with one of the chains on her skirt. 

Iruma goes quiet for a moment. They sit together. Kaede can’t tell if she appreciates the quiet or not- Iruma clearly isn’t someone who has any issue speaking her mind. Yet she pauses now.

“I liked Kiibo a lot,” she says, eventually, and Kaede’s stomach turns to stone. The cosplayer is staring down at her own knees- bruised and scraped under the tops of her socks. Kaede wonders when she found the time to injure herself- a matching scrape of skin on the corner of her wrist, under a set of chunky, bead bracelets. “They… they were super naive, didn’t really get what I was saying a lot of the time, but, uh. We hung out. A bit, I guess.” She looks up again, her blue eyes unreadable. “You noticed the- little fucken embroidered constellations on his dumb jacket? Not the printed ones, the ones around his wrists.”

Kaede honestly hadn’t paid enough attention to note which of the stars on Kiibo’s jacket were printed and which were sewn- but she thinks she remembers, white thread linking together a series of little dots, printed around his left wrist. “Mm.”

Fidgeting with the back of her collar, Iruma shifts, something pulling at her mouth- maybe a little proud, in a quieter kind of way than normal. “I stitched ‘em.”

“You did?” Kaede blinks, then laughs, leaning forward on her palms. “Iruma-san, you’re so talented! Oh, but- I thought your lab wasn’t open yet?”

Iruma rolls her eyes. “I carry a sewing kit, dumbass. You never wanna be stuck at a convention when your clothes start falling apart. See?” She fumbles under her shirt for a moment- Kaede looks away, turning pink, as Iruma works a hand into what must be under her bra, and then withdraws a little purse, giving it a shake. 

Still flustered, Kaede chances a peek back at her. She pulls her knees together, leaning in to look as Iruma opens up the kit and shows the lines of pins and needles, the skeins of multicolored thread. It’s like a little treasure trove. “So, you stitched them in for Kiibo?”

She nods, smiling almost fondly- for Iruma. “He was such a baby about it. ‘Ooooh, Iruma-san! Please do not prick my skin! Be careful with my jacket, the material is delicate!’ As if I was gonna mess it up.” She clicks her tongue, suddenly scowling again. “This brilliant designer has never fucked up a stitch in her life!”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Kaede responds, gently. “Even I falter in my training, sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t,” Iruma scoffs. Then she pauses, her eyes sliding back to Kaede’s as she sets the sewing kit down. “You know… It’s kind of a waste for you to decide you’re dumping all those fuckin’ martial arts kick-ass combat moves. You’re just letting that bastard win.” She jerks her head up to the monitor- not really sympathetic, but angry.

Kaede is never quite sure what she makes of Iruma. She’s not sure how to explain it- how to get into the breakdown of her core philosophy, how peace is not a symptom of aikido but the core of its principles.  
(She doesn’t disagree, entirely. It does feel like the game is taking something from her; like that trial stole not two but three lives. But they’ve got higher priorities than her sense of identity, right? And it isn’t like Kaede deserves any kind of empathy, after what she’s done.)

“Iruma-san?” She asks. “What constellation did you stitch for Kiibo?”

“Scorpio,” the cosplayer replies, flicking back her hair. “It was his star sign. He talked a lot about how star signs are inaccurate, and how they’ve actually shifted so the star charts aren’t really valid anymore, and even then how astrology is a sham and a joke, but-” She shrugs a shoulder, her anger seeming to simmer away. “I dunno. He kept looking at it and smiling, after I finished. Little twink. He was so full of shit.”

“What’s your star sign?” Kaede asks, tilting her head. The flutterings of an idea flick like pages in her mind.

Iruma snorts, hands on her hips. “Scorpio too, obviously!!! I figured me ‘n him could match, but I… didn’t get around to it. And I’m always switchin’ clothes, so-”

“I think you should do it,” Kaede interrupts, smiling. “You could stitch it onto a glove or something? Or some kind of small clothing you keep with you.”

“My panti-”

 _“No,_ oh my god!” Kaede leans away, red-faced and horrified, and Iruma bursts into cackling laughter, so loud and so long that she has to double over and clutch her stomach. Kaede stares at her angrily, sends a hand forward- pulls it back. Hesitates more than she should. Lightly chops the back of her head- just to mess with her, like how Momota sometimes shoves Amami’s shoulders.

Iruma manages to pull herself together after that, sitting up and wiping her eyes. “Oi! I thought you didn’t hit people?”

“I told you,” Kaede says, as if she hasn’t just managed to make herself more flustered. “I can’t call myself an aikido master anymore.”

Iruma squints at her for a moment. “God, that’s so anime of you. Are you gonna start beating people up to prove your points, now?”

Kaede huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you volunteering?”

Iruma clutches at her own shoulders. “Me? You’d beat me up? A-Akamatsu, that’s so-”

“Oh my god.” Kaede pushes her away, gently, before she can start drooling. “Iruma-san, you have issues.”

“Who doesn’t?” She recovers quickly, at least, flicking back her hair. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of _what-”_

“Hey.” And then Iruma is leaning in again, grinning down at Kaede. “What’s _your_ star sign?”

“Um, aries,” Kaede says, leaning back. “Why?”

“Ooh, spicy. You know we’re technically compatible in a tempestuous kinda way, right?”

Kaede props herself up on her hands and raises an eyebrow. “I was not aware you were capable of love, Iruma-san.”

“H-hey!” The cosplayer reels back at that, her face flushing pink. Kaede allows herself a small victory. “That’s not very rivals-to-lovers of you!”

Kaede blinks. “...Not very what?”

“Oh my god.” Iruma rolls her eyes. “Nevermind, we’re not compatible at all. I forgot you lived under a fucking rock.”

“I’m charmed, really.” Kaede is back to feeling unsure about how she feels about Iruma. Is she teasing or does she really look down on her? Both? Neither? How does she simultaneously manage her inferiority AND superiority complex?

With style, apparently. Iruma flips back her hair again, bracelets jangling as she reaches for the sewing kit. “Whatever. Give me one of your dumb little wristbands.”

“They’re not-” Kaede cuts herself off with a sigh. “Why?”

“So I can stitch your star sign on, duh.” Iruma says this like it was obvious. “You’re not gonna get a deal like this again. Ultimate cosplayer, your local genius designer here. Hand ‘em over.” She’s already pulling a needle from the case and threading it with frightening speed. 

Kaede watches this, a little stupidly, and then quickly fumbles to pull free one of her sweatbands, holding it out. “Ah- here.” She bites her lip, suddenly shy. It _is_ a nice offer. “You don’t have to…”

Iruma tsks, pins in her mouth as she quickly flips the fabric. She withdraws a pen from somewhere in her pockets, muttering something about a fairy tale, and quickly sketches a pattern over the band. She says nothing else until the needle is knotted, gold thread piercing through the pink elastic.  
“Kiibo was uptight and dumb,” she says, after all that silence. “Major prude. Like you, I guess.” She goes quiet again, for a moment, as she flicks the thread through in short, controlled movements, building a satiny star. “But… you and ‘em were kind of the only people to hang out with me, here. Everyone else was too intimidated. Ha! I can’t even blame them all.”

Despite herself, Kaede smiles, tilting her head to watch the thread move. “I’m sure they enjoyed your company,” she says softly. And then; “I’m sorry.”

Iruma shrugs a shoulder, pulling the thread tight. “They woulda died either way.”

Kaede stares down at her lap. Slowly, her fingers bunch the fabric of her skirt. Iruma is quiet again for a while, working away.

Then she says, “hey, so, you’re on first name basis with Momota now? So did he show you his dick first, or did-”

And then Kaede is yelling at her and she’s yelling back, but she keeps stitching and Kaede keeps sitting down, and it’s embarrassing and stupid and Iruma makes her so frustrated, but- 

When she leaves to go and look around a little more, Kaede’s left wrist band has aries stitched into it, and whenever the gold thread catches her eye, she smiles. 

And she thinks of Kiibo doing the same thing.

\--

Emotions have always hit Tenko hard.  
Mechanics have taught her to keep them a little more controlled- you can’t place wires with shaky hands, you can’t code a microchip if your mind is busy. Maybe it’s the fact she was taken out of school, kept under the guidance of her mentor, but sometimes it feels like mechanics is the _only_ thing she can focus on- and even then, she has to work on multiple projects at once, and if she snaps a card one too many times she has to abandon her projects and go smash pots until she feels a little cooler. Tenko doesn’t so much suppress her anger as burn it out with work- she jumps from project to project, throws herself into it all, and when she’s finished and she’s produced something from those restless, angry emotions, she feels good.

When she was younger, she used to lash out and hit the people around her when she felt afraid, when she felt sad, when she got overwhelmed and stressed and didn’t know how to calm down. It’s not that she gets angry easily- it’s that she gets frustrated, and people don’t back off and leave her alone, and even when she needs peace to calm down, they just keep talking and talking at her and she gets so- so-  
But Tenko’s mentor has taught her how to handle anger. She needs to get away from people, have some space to calm down on her own, lock herself up until she’s in control again- and this way, when she’s able to leave, when she’s not overwhelmed anymore, she has three dozen inventions either made or improved and she feels proud.

Tenko is emotional, so she’s locked herself up, because she’s overwhelmed and upset and she knows that that will _quickly_ turn to anger if someone says the wrong thing, or tries to make her talk. She’ll be here for a few days, at least, waiting for her heart to slow and her head to stop feeling so cramped, because even her own feelings are out of her control and all she can do is wait. And normally, if she were hiding for a few days, she’d exit with her arms full of completed prototypes and she’d march straight to her mentor for feedback.

But right now, she can’t even look at her supplies without feeling like a plate cracked down the middle.

Tenko sits in the spinning desk chair with her face buried in her knees, eyes squeezed shut. Bits and pieces of Himiko are still scattered all over the workshop- she can tell, just by looking, which wires were taken out to be replaced, which bolts were unscrewed, the scraps of fabric that tore off when Tenko was trying to fix up her cloak and had to eventually admit defeat in the face of embroidery. Plates of metal and gold leaf that chipped off her mechanical heart.

Tenko remembers when she accidentally opened too many layers of metal and the robot started bleeding, pink and gooey. Himiko had shrieked and Tenko had babbled apologies and panicked, unable to even put her back together while she stared at the liquid dripping from the open panels of her collar bones. 

_“It’s just a defense system,” the ghost- robot- mage- had told her later, when Tenko had pulled herself together enough to screw shut the base layer. “It’s cooling gel, around the layer where my computer is stored, but it’s colored brightly to let people know that they’ve gone too far.” She paused. “A-and, I feel pain. I mean, it registers. So that I know if I’m in danger of being damaged. If you want to mess with the computer, you’d have to switch me off first and then drain all the fluid.”_

_“Oh, I wouldn’t ever want to mess with your computer!” Tenko had replied, anxiously pulling at her own braids. “I- I’m not good enough, I’d be too worried about breaking something…”_

_Himiko yawned, fiddling with the scraps of cape around her shoulders. “Well,” she’d said. “It would be okay if you did, I think. I’m a ghost anyway, so… Worst case scenario it would just mess with how my body functioned.”_

_And the idea of holding someone’s spirit- someone’s CPU, the emotions that thudded through Himiko’s tiny, metal body…. It had made Tenko so flustered that she had to busy herself with screwing and unscrewing the bolds on her monopad._

Himiko had been… kind of cold, sometimes. She got frustrated when Tenko was too clingy, or too overprotective, or too eager. She liked to follow Yonaga around, and she clearly admired Saihara’s knowledge on humanity, and she got mad if Tenko lingered too closely. She could be dismissive, and lazy, and was easily distracted. Her batteries drained fast, and she sometimes left mid-conversation to go curl up and nap somewhere. She also refused to entertain any idea that she was anything but a ghost possessing a robot body- but that was okay, because the robot body was still impressive even if there wasn’t an AI controlling it. Tenko admired every part of her, from the little pieces of spiritual lore she shared, to the stories about how she would perform for her professor’s colleagues, to the way she would tuck her hair behind her ears or straighten the folds on her skirt, or just _how much_ wire could fit in her thin, white arms. 

Tenko wasn’t sure if they were friends or not, really. She was too nervous to ask, and Himiko wasn’t just a robot, but a _girl,_ and the combination of those two things served to make Tenko fidgety and uncertain around her. Besides, she hadn’t really… had any friends before. She admired other inventors, anyone who could put together the prints for a project and pull it to life, considered them all her brethren. But she’d grown up pretty isolated, schooled by her master in the safety of his lab, and she’d only met others out at competitions or while seeking scholarships and aid.  
And then for a few, brilliant weeks, she’d had… someone. Even if Himiko didn’t like Tenko as much as Tenko liked her, or if she was a ghost, or if they were just both shy and uncertain, they’d been together. Even if it was just for Tenko to help fix Himiko’s wrist, or to get advice on how she was shaping the portable charger, or to listen to Himiko talk about fantasy novels Tenko had never read…. They were together, and they were talking, and sometimes Himiko would get cranky and go to sleep somewhere else, and sometimes she would laugh, and sometimes she would fidget with her cloak and look away, and sometimes she would smile right at Tenko like Tenko was able to make her happy. 

Tenko sits alone in her workshop and she doesn’t look at her projects because all of them make her think of Himiko smiling, of Himiko crossing her arms and huffing, of Himiko falling asleep on her books. Of Himiko crying. Of Himiko bleeding. Of Himiko dying. 

Tenko was always taught about how girls needed to be protected from boys. She thinks her mentor wanted to keep her protected, too, but Tenko always wanted to be the one protecting. And Himiko…. Himiko was someone small, and nervous, and brilliant. Himiko was someone Tenko could look after.

Except she couldn’t.

Tenko presses her forehead into her knees and thinks about how she let Himiko go on lookout duty by herself. It’s her fault Himiko doesn’t have an alibi. It’s her fault Himiko’s programming pushed her into acting.  
It’s not like Tenko wanted Akamatsu to die, either. Or Kiibo. It was- awful, awful, all of it. She didn’t want _anyone_ to die.  
But it is her fault it was Himiko who ended up dying. Because Tenko was just a room over. And Tenko was the one who said she’d look after Himiko.

_“Chabashira-san,” Himiko started, and then stopped, hesitant. Like her words mattered. Like there was something she wanted to say and didn’t know how. “There might not be any other robots like me.... And you might never meet another ghost again…” She’d brought her fingertips together to fidget, and Tenko recognized the gesture as one of her own. “But… you’ve got lots of other people here. I think… you don’t need to be so afraid of impressing them.”_

But what’s the point of impressing people if you can’t keep them alive?

It’s been a few days, now. Tojo and Shirogane and Akamatsu have all stepped by to check up on her, and Tenko has done her best to smile at all of them without crying. “Tenko’s just working on a project,” she told each of them, but the documents scattered over her table were all for modifications for Himiko. “I’d explain it, but it’s a lot of jargon… I’ll come out for dinner!” 

She didn’t come out for dinner. Shirogane left plates outside her lab that Tenko didn’t eat- something about the way the maid tried to sympathize made her feel nauseous.

Someone knocks once. She ignores it. What time is it? Maybe Shirogane is leaving her another meal. It’s kind of her, if so.

They knock again. She mumbles something about being tired.  
They enter.

Ouma is not exactly the _last_ person Tenko wants to see, but he’s definitely up there. Her heart sinks as she watches the assassin slip through the door, shutting it behind him with the quietest click. He looks almost caring as he does so, fingers curling around the edge of it as he pushes it closed, fingers slipping back with a little tap before he lifts his eyes to meet her. He’s smiling.

Vaguely, head on her knees, Tenko wonders if he’s here to kill her. The motive video she hasn’t been able to bring herself to watch after the first initial viewing lays on her work table, the screen glinting in the dull glow of her desk lamp. (Already altered, renewable power source. She’d given it sixteen different lighting modes on the first day after her lab opened. She hasn’t switched it off the dimmest, yellowest one since after the trial.) 

Ouma does not kill her.

“Chaba-chan!” He calls out, taking a few steps into the lab- and he walks so quietly normally, but now every step echoes like he’s wearing tap shoes. “I didn’t see you at breakfast today? How’s it going?”

Tenko would never, ever, curse at someone, not even a filthy boy like Ouma, but right now she _feels_ it, words brittle and sharp as melted plastic. She tucks them under her tongue, ignores the way they prick at her flesh.

Instead, she finally lifts her head from her knees, ignores the cramp in her neck to glare at him. “Go away,” she says, and she makes no effort to hide the bitterness in her tone. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Awwww, you’re gonna hurt my feelings,” he whines, making a cute motion with his hands, like he’s scrubbing his eyes, pouting. It’s disgusting. Tenko hates him more than she hates any of the other boys, even Saihara- because she doesn’t hate Saihara so much as resent and fear him. “Can’t I come and check up on how my favourite inventor is doing after her walking dating sim bites the dust?”

“Shut up!” Tenko moves, for the first time all day, jumps to her feet, hands bunched up. “Shut up, you- you awful, stupid, degenerate! Shut up, don’t talk about her like that!”

Ouma tilts his head to the side, finger to his cheek. “Hm? But she wasn’t a real person, you know. She said so herself!”

“She-” All the breath in Tenko’s lungs feels like it tangles up, wraps her into ropes. She was a ghost. She was an intelligence, artificial the same way genetically modified fruit might be, real, bleeding, laughing, sleeping. She was magic. 

“I need you to make me something.” Ouma isn’t smiling anymore. He reaches up under his own skirt, and even if he’s wearing pants beneath it, Tenko still shrinks away and covers her eyes, face flushed. She has absolutely _zero_ desire to go looking at what’s beneath the skirts of any degenerates. Not to imply she wants to look up girl’s skirts! She’s not like them. She doesn’t think of anything dirty, all Tenko knows how to do is invent, and- and-  
Now that just makes her think of Himiko.

The sound of something slapping against the workbench makes her peek out between her fingers, looking over at Ouma. The assassin’s holding a folded set of paper against the table, rolled up like a scroll. 

“You made those cameras for Saihara and Akamatsu, right?” He asks, brushing a thumb over the top of the paper, almost affectionately. 

"I made them for Akamatsu-san," she corrects him, her chest all tight and burning. "And I will never do it again. I especially won't make anything for you!"

He shakes his head, tongue clicking almost patronizingly. She hates him, hates him, hates how he sets his papers down on the place where _Himiko_ would sit, hates how he doesn't even care, doesn't even seem to think about her.   
Men are really the worst. This is everything her mentor warned her about- that they would come in and use her for her brain. All he wants are her inventions. She won't let him steal them.

Ouma lifts one of the papers, unfolding it. Despite herself, her eyes are drawn to the prints- she scans them quickly, a kind of franticness to her brain that needs to affix itself to something. She can see the vague sketch of it even across the room, and it looks solid. Who taught Ouma how to draw blueprints?

“Y-you really are the worst,” Tenko stutters, clutching at her own chest. “You’re exactly the worst kind of degenerate. All you care about is getting your- your twisted kicks!”

“If it helps,” Ouma replies cheerfully. “I’m not going to do anything perverted to the _girls._ ”

“That doesn’t make it better!” Tenko snaps, throwing a screwdriver at his face with all the strength she can pull together. He dodges, easily. She’s shaking with anger, shoves his stupid blueprints off the table and lunges for handful of bolts to throw. This time, he lets them hit him, unblinking. “Tenko will never, _ever_ invent anything for you.”

He snorts, twisting a hand through his hair and glancing sideways like he doesn’t care about her at all. Like she’s not- even worth his attention- _he’s_ the one who wants something from her, Tenko can’t _stand_ him. “It’s not really inventing if I’m the one who drew the blueprints. More like… commissioning.”

“Tenko doesn’t take commissions,” she replies. "And she certainly wouldn't take them from you!"

Ouma busies himself with fussing over the things on her desk. She's sure she sees him pocket something, but who cares? He can take all the loose screws he wants. She isn't doing anything for him.   
"That's a shame," he says, coolly. "I thought you wanted to protect everyone? Live up to what Himiko thought of you?"

It's like he's stabbed her right through with one of those crooked knives he carries with him. Tenko gasps, breath catching on a whimper. Ouma doesn't even look up, sliding a finger over the table.

"It's not good to keep someone like me bored, you know," he says, dropping his hand from the table one finger at a time. "When was the last time you left your lab? Not for ages, right?" He tips his head backwards, all the way, until he's looking at her upside-down. "Did anyone tell you what happened?"

Tenko shakes her head, stiffly. She reaches sideways, fingers curling around a heavy wrench.

"My lab opened up."

Tenko stares at Ouma. Ouma stares at her. 

He looks like he's hanging from the ceiling, tipped all the way backward, his eyes all wide. 

"I'm soooo bored, Chabashira-chan," he says, like a spoiled child, like a whining baby. "I just want to be able to play a prank on Angie! I'm not stupid enough to kill someone when I _know_ you'll all just vote for me anyway, but if I'm not entertained soon..." He trails off, slowly straightening up until he's facing away from her, staring at the opposite wall. "I might just have to make use of all those fun toys they provided for me."

His back is turned to her. Tenko grips the wrench tighter.

A knife comes flying out of nowhere. She screams as it embeds itself in the wall above her head, almost topples over a tray of specially-set microchips. The knife wobbles, lodged in the wood above her head, and then slowly slips out, gravity dragging it to the floor next to her. She jumps, falls backward, and the pain doesn't even register when her heart is still trying to beat out of her chest.

Ouma twirls around on one foot, laughing. "Well, I guess _that_ was pretty entertaining."

"Y-you can't," she stammers, and she's thinking of Himiko, of Himiko who tried to hard to keep everyone safe, who just wanted to buy them some more time to escape. Ouma wants to ruin that, wants to waste everything she gave her life for- just to keep himself entertained, just to make himself happy. 

He pulls a second knife from one of his boots, drawing himself up slowly. "Let's make a deal, then," he says, tapping it against his fingertips. "You make me what I want- and I won't ask for any weapons, don't worry. I have _plenty_ in my lab. But you make me my little toys... and I swear I won't kill anyone. Okay?"

Tenko stares at him, her mouth twisted up. "You're a liar," she says, heart thudding in her ears, and all of this- all of it seems so dangerous. "You're lying to me."

He sighs, like he's disappointed. "Remember what I said? If I kill anyone, everyone will know it was me. I'll never be able to prove my innocence- and if you all can't prove it was someone else, you'll just default to voting for me." He pauses, tapping the knife against his mouth. "I plan to win this game, y'know. I think it might be kinda fun to try and make it to the last two students- or maybe, I'd wait till the last three, and then kill the other two. But there's no point in me doing anything now, riiiight?" He smiles again, but it flickers out. "Unless I get bored. We're on the same page?"

He's staring at her inquisitively, head tilted, expectant. Tenko stares back. 

She nods, slowly.

"Good!" Ouma claps his hands, slips the knife into one of his baggy pockets. "Well then, best get started, hm? Chop chop!"

He turns to go, leaving Tenko there on the floor, sweaty and cold and hot and so deep in panic that it almost- almost feels like she's watching Himiko's trial again.   
She doesn't think she'll ever feel that horrified, ever, ever again, but when Ouma moved and the knife flew out, all she could think about was how Himiko had cried for help.

“Oh,” Ouma pauses at the door, his hands crooked around the edge of it. Tenko has a very powerful urge to slam it on his fingers. “Chaba-chan?”

 _“Don’t_ call me that,” she replies, voice shaking just a little.

Ouma’s smile stretches out like a gear chain, teeth clicking into place. “If you tell anyone about any of this? I’ll kill you.”

She clutches at the side of her workbench. Part of her wants to reach for her wrench again.

"Bye-bye, partner!" He slips out the door with another wiggle of his thin, pale fingers. 

Tenko slumps against the workbench, holding onto it for support. She feels dirty. She doesn't know what to do.

... She supposes she can start with the blueprints.

A high-powered, filtering vaccuum looks pretty harmless, after all.

\--

Kaede wakes up the next morning, unsettled and hopeful, washing her face and fixing her hair and thinking about her classmates the whole time. She adjusts her wristbands, smiles down at the constellation pattern, and then, as she had the day before, reaches under her pillow to watch the motive video before she heads out.

But there's nothing there.

When she flies into the dining hall, sandals half-undone, it appears she's not the only one in the same state. In fact, it looks like she's the last one there; the only other people missing at the ones who haven't been to meals lately- Chabashira, Ouma, Saihara. Shinguji is missing too, which is a little more unusual, but he's known to stumble in much later than others. (Kaede thinks it's his intricate, goth, grooming routine.)

They dissolve into argument fairly quickly- accusation and chaos and drama. Iruma is yelling at Tojo. Amami is trying to calm her down. Angie is trying to coax an increasingly irate Kaito into praying for her. Gonta stands between Harukawa and Shirogane, trying to stop the former from throttling the latter. Hoshi, distant and above it all, stares out the window.

Kaede turns to him, desperately. "Hoshi-kun, you're a detective, right? Can't you solve this, please?"

Still watching whatever he can see between the boards, Hoshi twitches a little. Slowly, he lifts his head to look over at her.   
And then he shakes it. "Nah."

She might not have viewed the video today, but her sister's drained face is still floating in Kaede's mind. "Why not?" She demands, shaking a little. 

"Because you guys might all have motives to kill- or motives to find 'em, or whatever, but I don't," he says, flatly. "I don't care about those fucking videos."

"Hoshi-kun," Gonta asks, softly. "Was something wrong with your video?"

It's hard to be angry at Gonta, who is so well-mannered and so well-intentioned that he could say the foulest things in his gentle tone and all you would be able to do is smile and tell him it's okay. Even Hoshi hesitates. 

"Nothin' was wrong with it," he says, reaching in his pocket- no lollipop, but a cigarette. He doesn't light it, just holds it between his teeth, sticking from the corner of his mouth. "It just didn't have anything to bother looking for."

"So you won't help us, then?" Iruma demands, fiercely. "My only fucking friend was on there, I-" and then she turns red and cuts herself off, tugging at her own hair. 

Hoshi shrugs, leaning back in his seat. "Yeah. I don't see any reason to help you. Call me if someone gets murdered, and I'll do what I can. But, for the record? I don't give a shit what happens to me. If someone wants to kill me for their motive, I say let 'em."

"Hoshi!" Kaede gasps, because saying that- it feels like an insult to everything. Everything Himiko did. Everything she tried to do.

The detective just shrugs a shoulder. "Sorry, kid," he says.   
And that's that.

There’s nothing she hates more than when everyone starts to leave- disheartened and quiet, trailing alone and in groups. Hoshi remains in his seat, arms folded behind his head, and Kaede doesn’t know what to... say. How do you motivate someone that even Monokuma couldn't give a reason to live to? She feels empty, hollowed out- wonders if this is just a fraction of his own emotions.  
Why should Hoshi care about anything if he's killed all those people? If he has no one left to protect?

Kaede is forcing herself to inhale, moving over to go out and investigate, when suddenly- _hope_ walks into the room, dour and nervous and masked.

Saihara Shuichi looks around at the empty mess hall, fidgeting with the chain on his pocketwatch. "I... heard some commotion outside?"

"Saihara-kun!" Kaede says, and the wave of relief that flows through her when he looks- actually looks at her, for the first time in days. Her best- her best friend. She breaks into a smile despite it all, Hoshi completely forgotten, as she hurries to his side. "Where have you been?"

The eyes on her don't last long, however. Something flickers in Saihara's gaze, and then he's staring anywhere but Kaede. "Um. Reading, mostly. I'm sorry, I've just been... processing."

"That's okay!" She says, eagerly, hopefully, a note of desperation there. If Saihara is here, it's going to be okay. He- he's talking to her, and even if he's mad at her, he's talking, and he isn't yelling, and he... he'll come up with another plan, some way to catch whoever stole the motive videos. 

His fingers twitch against his mask- she's going to take it as something like a smile. "What did I miss?"

"Someone stole the motive videos!" Kaede explains, pumping her hands. "Kaito and I are gonna go look for them all!"

“The motive videos…?” Saihara questions, tilting his head. “They’re missing?”

She frowns. “Yeah. Isn’t yours?”

His eyes slide sideways, pulling at his gloves. “Ah. I haven’t actually checked, yet, so… probably?” 

Kaede offers him a smile, rocking forward on her feet. “Well, maybe you can help us look!” 

“That’s okay,” he mumbles, still not looking at her. “I… I actually have something else to do today.”

Something awful and empty settles in Kaede’s stomach- a hole that somehow manages to take up space despite being made of absolutely nothing. There’s an awful, creeping sense of anxiety pulling at her pigtails- the sense that maybe, Saihara really, _really_ doesn’t want to see her anymore. That the friendship they’d formed- that she was sure they’d forged together even in the terror of this place, the thing that made him willing to trust her and let her help with his plan… that might have frayed under the stress of the trial.

Maybe Saihara _hates_ her. 

Kaede isn’t sure what to say. She adjusts her scrunchies awkwardly, watching Saihara watch the floor.  
“Oh,” she settles on, mouth empty. “Well, um. Let us know if you find anything!” The smile on her face feels tacky as chewed gum.

The anthropologist nods stiffly, then turns to move away. Kaede watches him go, and her heart- _aches._

Someone claps a hand on her shoulder. Kaede startles, lifts her head to look up at Kaito, watch him give her one of his classic thumbs up. 

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s give the guy some space and go investigate! If Hoshi isn’t gonna solve this case, looks like it’s up to us!”

Kaede’s smile sinks a little further into her cheeks, the muscles relaxing. She pumps her fists in faux-excitement, but it’s not too hard to pretend it’s real. “Right! Leave it to the heroic duo of the star tennis player and the banished ronin!”

“That’s the spirit!” He pats her shoulder again and then moves forward, gesturing her after him. “This thief isn’t even ready for us.”

It's a little like investigating with Shuichi before that awful first trial- questioning the others, looking around for anything out of place. Just enough to make Kaede uneasy, to make her stomach feel tight and her satchel heavy. She keeps close to Kaito as they inspect the floors, bantering quietly, drawing out their conversations with the classmates they pass. She tries to put all of it aside, tries not to think about Saihara, about how much she misses him, about how guilty she feels for betraying his trust, about-

“Wait,” Kaede says, holding out a hand. At her side, Kaito pauses, brow furrowed. “I hear.. Music.”

He inclines his head along with her, ears straining, and then frowns. “Me too. Creepy.” The slow decline of keys inches throughout the hallway, and surprisingly, he shudders, looking genuinely concerned. “It sounds like it’s from a fuckin’ horror movie.” The athelete freezes up. “Do you- think it’s Monokuma?”

Kaede laughs at him, gently swatting his shoulder. “Come on, silly. The ultimate pianist’s lab is just up here. It’s probably just Shinguji-kun practicing- and we need to talk to him anyway, right?”

“Ugh, he’s almost creepier than Monokuma,” Kaito grumbles- and as if to prove his point, there’s a sudden clamour at the keys, a deep, lonely sound that echoes like someone fell onto the composition- before the melody picks up once more, like it’s being pulled from underneath. 

Kaede laughs, at first, at the nervous look Kaito gives her, but honestly, as they move through the dark halls of the school and grow closer to the source of the sound, her own unease grows with him. How can one piano be so loud and quiet all at once? How can the rise and fall of the keys feel so _anxious,_ how can every sudden, dark strike against the source make her jump?   
Her feet press over moss and tile, and the piece grows more and more frantic- fading out for achingly long moments, just a second but a second of silence, and then coming back in twice as fiercely- and then once more fading away, echoing and melancholy and so, so soft. When the pair of them reach the door, neither motions to go inside. They just hand back, breath bated, listening to the song slow down and reach up into the higher, minor pieces, slow tremors of sound. It sounds like it's questioning something. It sounds like if they open that door, there'll be no one inside at all.

Every time the piece pauses, Kaede's blood goes cold. Every high, aching tremble makes her clutch tighter to Kaito's arm- and she's not sure when she started, but he's clinging to her just as tightly. 

It's this school, this school, the corridors that aren't ever lit, the rot dripping from the ceilings, the barbed wire over the windows. Why barbed? Why board the windows of a school in a dome? 

If they want to scare them, it's working.

Finally, after an almost painful period of dancing over itself, the song slows down into the same, gradual decline it began with, and then stops, the last note lingering in the air.  
Kaito's fingers might leave bruises. They wait, one second, then two, then three, but the song does not begin again. 

Kaede flings the door open.

“Hm?” Shinguji glances up from his piano, fingers still poised on the keys. They seem like they’re full of motion, even when he’s completely still. It looks like he could break back into song at any moment, without even the slightest motion- like he could simply _will_ the music to continue. “Is everything alright?”

“That was beautiful,” she says, her heart wavering in her throat.

Shinguji stands slowly, brushing down the tails of his waistcoat with his wrapped fingers. " _Piano Sonata No. 9_ , by Scriabin," he quotes, flexing his fingers through the air like the legs of an insect. "Nicknamed _The Black Mass,_ and known for its emotional complexity. I've been playing purely tragic songs, lately, to honor the deceased." Eyes closed, he places both palms over his heart, genuine melancholy interjected through his voice. "The combination of inbuilt dissonance and the continuous development of the piece build into something truly tremulous. I think it captures the complexity of the loss of our friends quite well- the violence that was not quite violence. The kindness in their acts. What self-devotion! Only music can reach that level of tragedy."

"Tragedy, yeah," Kaito mumbles, inching behind Kaede. She can't really blame him- _sad_ is not the first word she would have used for that piece, although it seems to apply. She probably would have started with _creepy,_ or _ominous._

"You're truly talented, Shinguji-kun," she says, giving him a nervous smile. The pianist bows, arm tucked neatly behind him. "I-I've always admired classical music."

"Oh?" He tilts his head, lifting his other hand from his chest and cradling it against his cheek. "A fellow connoisseur of the arts?"

Kaede laughs, awkwardly. "My... my mother used to play it a lot, while we meditated. Um. Usually more peaceful songs, but..."

"The _gymnopedies,_ I would imagine," Shinguji nods. 

“Mm,” she hums, a little less uneasy. “I loved the piano pieces. There’s something so soothing about it.”

“Really?” Shinguji tilts his head, giving her a slow once-over that makes her feel just a little uncomfortable. Not because it’s perverted, or anything- but maybe because it’s so _not_ perverted, slow and detached from everything. How can a musician seem so clinical? "You have good taste, then. I can sense it in you."

The compliment eases her a little, especially when he meets her smile with one that isn't quite as dark. They question him about the motive videos, because he'd been absent at breakfast- but he's happy to show them the piles of sheet music he's been playing through, the (gross, frankly) bandages he'd changed before he started playing, and confesses to the fact that he came to play not only to mourn, but to process the loss of the video.

They've got no reason to disbelieve him, so Kaede tries to commit what he says to memory, and they go out to pursue their next target. Ouma was absent, but... she's not sure if she wants to see him right now.

That leaves Chabashira, which is an equally frightening prospect, but... Kaede really should visit again, anyway.

In some strike of good fortune, when they arrive, Chabashira actually seems fairly spirited, burying herself into some kind of project. She barks at Kaito, points a wrench at him and demands to know if he's made Kaede uncomfortable.   
(The fact she's still willing to try and protect her makes Kaede's heart twist, even if she has to hastily defend Kaito's honor.)

There's no reason to suspect her either, really, but they question her anyway, watching her carefully tape down wires in the tiniest, minutest manner, hooking up cards and microchips to the skeleton of her machine.

"Is yours missing, too?" Kaede asks, and Chabashira has to pause.

She lifts her goggles and crosses over to the work bench, shuffling through a pile of blueprints, picking up sheets of metal, bending down to look beneath it. "I- I wasn't really paying much attention to it," she admits, and she won't make eye contact. "I didn't even watch it, I just- I didn't care. I don't want anything Monokuma tries to give me. I- I refuse to forgive him for what he did to Himiko! So it might be lost, somewhere, or I might have- I misplace stuff, all the time, stupid.. stupid, dumb pad..."

"When was the last time you saw it?" Kaede asks, moving over to help her look.

“It was- hold on.”

Something flickers over Chabashira's face- _rage,_ raw and red and everything Kaede was taught to suppress. “That- that monster!”

“Chabashira-san?” Kaede asks, uncertainly. “Is everything okay?” 

She's already standing up from her seat, stumbling back, her teeth bared. “Tenko- Tenko knows what happened.” She’s shoving a collection of bolts off the table, already storming over to the door, leaving Kaede and Kaito frozen behind. “Tell the others to meet by Ouma-san’s lab!”

Kaede and Kaito exchange a glance. He seems equally puzzled.

“Okay?” Kaede says. “Oh- but- Chabashira!”

Chabashira glances back, but she’s clearly all worked up- static electricity humming through her braids. “What?”

Kaede bites her lip, then decides to go for it, giving her an encouraging smile. “Himiko-san would be so proud of you right now!”

Chabashira looks like she’s been dropped in a cold lake. For a moment, Kaede wonders if she shouldn’t have said anything.

But the inventor ducks her head, face blooming red, and- she’s not smiling, but her whole stature has softened.  
“Thank you, Akamatsu-san,” she mumbles, and when she looks up, her eyes are bright. “Be sure to meet Tenko there, okay?”

Kaede pumps her fists. “We’ll be there as soon as we gather the others!” Kaito makes a hum of agreement, holding out a thumbs up- and Chabashira doesn’t even glare at him, just nods once before she disappears from her lab.

Kaede glances around, gaze skimming over the scattered blueprints and the stray parts. She looks back up to Kaito, who is still smiling.

“I knew it,” he says, leaning back against the worktable. “You’ve got a spark in you, Kaede. It’s still there.”

She rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, a little flustered. “Ah, geez. You’re such a softie, you know?”

Kaito has the gall to actually seem insulted by that. “Wh- no I’m not! I’m not soft! You take that back!”

She grins up at him, adjusting the way his tennis jacket hangs off his shoulder in a fond way- like they’ve been friends for a million years. And it kind of feels like it, a little bit. “Sure, Kaito,” she says. “It’s okay to be soft, you know?”

He looks away, lips pursed, and she has to stifle a peal of quiet laughter. Kaito takes himself so seriously- she supposes it’s why he’s able to talk so confidently, say the sort of crazy, bright things that he does, but it’s just a little bit funny. “Maybe for you, but it’s different for guys, right? I’ve gotta-”

“Oh my god.” Kaede crosses her arms. “Kaito, you are _so_ lucky Chabashira-san just left?”

His brow furrows- he looks a little like a dog, ears drooping. “Why? Whaddid I say?”

Kaede snorts. She doesn’t think Kaito is a misogynist- at least, she doesn’t think he has any serious views that make him think women are inferior, or something. He clearly respects her, at the least- even if he’s claiming to be in charge now, he was happy to follow her instruction…. Before. And he’s impressed by her combat skills. There’s clearly some issues in there, though- she’d bet her favorite pyjamas on him being raised fairly traditionally. 

(Of course, so was she, and she’s still always doing her best to be empathetic to others, but- no offense Kaito- he ended up going into sports and she ended up going into philosophy/martial arts. It’s not really the same.)

Patting his arm, she begins to head for the door, and he follows, already smiling again as soon as he notices that she isn’t angry. “I’ll lecture you later, okay? We should probably find the others.”

“Aw, Kaede,” he moans. “I’m never able to pay attention to that kinda stuff.”

“It’s my duty as your sidekick, right?” She counters. “Don’t worry. I’ll go slowly.”

Kaito is kind of stupid, even if she knows he’s smart in other ways, and he’s got come internalized stuff she doesn’t know how to begin to deal with, and he’s- well, he’s not Saihara.  
Kaede still misses Saihara a lot.  
But he’s smiling at her, and she’s smiling back, and when she holds the door open for him he gives her a wink and a thumbs up, and… she likes him a lot. Not as a replacement for Saihara- ideally, she would hang out with them both, watching Saihara quietly try to teach Kaito something academic, Kaito trying to coax him into push ups, Kaede laughing at both of them. Kaito is entirely different from the dark, gentle anthropologist who kept all his emotions buttoned up under his coat. 

And that’s okay, she thinks, as he breaks into a run and yells at her to race him to the others, and as she has no other choice than to run with him, put on a burst of speed just so she can look back and laugh and let it echo in the corridors. This isn’t the same as before, but Kaede isn’t the same as before. One day, she’ll be able to invite Saihara to join them, and maybe she’ll hear him laugh, too, watching Kaito push forward to catch up again.

In the meantime, though, she’ll just turn forward again, make sure she beats him back to the school.

\--

It doesn't take them too long to convince everyone to meet up- most of the students can be found scattered around outside, a few in classrooms, Hoshi still in the mess hall, staring out the boarded windows. Saihara is the last one they manage to capture, inspecting the area around the shrine of judgement, but he's coaxed to join them fairly easily. He still won't look at Kaede as they walk, but when Kaito tries to make conversation, he at least responds, although his answers are quiet and soft. 

The three of them reach the top of the stairs and join the rest of the group- Kaede does a quick headcount and confirms that 13/14 are present. Chabashira nods, firmly, before storming over and knocking on the door to the ultimate assassin's lab.

They all wait, breath caught, impatient, eager, as the sound of locks unclicking and chairs being dragged back and metal being rapped in a particularly rhythm echo from the unassuming door. Finally, the last bolt slides open, and the doorknob turns.

Ouma steps out, closing the door behind him, and breaks into a grin. "Wow, all of you, huh? Is this a surprise party? Just for me???"

Chabashira steps forward. "What did you do with the motive pads?"

"The what?"

"The motive pads, you awful degenerate!"

“Huh?” Ouma tilts his head to the side, all innocence. “Oh, yeah. I took ‘em.”

“Wha- _why?”_ Kaito demands, raising a fist like he’s ready to fist fight an assassin right there. “You fuckin’ little thief-” Kaede places a hand on his arm, just enough pressure to push. He glances down, and then huffs, lowering his hand. 

“It’s for your sake, you know,” Ouma says, shrugging a shoulder. “You know why Monokuma made ‘em pocket-sized?” He lifts a finger to his lips. “He wants you all to _obsess_ over them. Overthink it. Rewatch and rewatch until their faces are printed in your mind forever. Until you’re ready to do anything to stop yourself from letting them down.” His expression flickers.

Kaede can’t say what it is, what changes, but something about his mouth seems to shift- unclicks just a little, like a snake that hasn’t yet unhinged its jaw but _might._ One of those choppy strands of bangs slips from his forehead and covers his left eye, and he doesn’t even blink.  
She’s a little scared of Ouma, maybe. 

“Th-then how do we know _you_ won’t go and kill someone?” Iruma stutters, clutching at Tojo’s sleeve. The politician pats her shoulder comfortingly.

Kokichi shrugs a shoulder. “Oh, you don’t.” He grins. “In fact, you all should be pretty on guard right now. Not just me, you know. This isn’t like that first, dumb motive, where they were trying to scare us. This one is specific.” He lifts his hands, either side of him, like he’s a villain in a play, about to step forward and soliloquize about his nefarious plans. He doesn’t, though. That would be too lucky for them. “Every single person here has a personalized motive to kill!”

The crowd shuffles, weight paused and distributed, like a collected breath was shuddered out in uneven timing.

Gonta, his dark hair curling around his shoulders, hesitates for a moment, before he opens his mouth. “Gonta’s video was… was of his wolf family,” he says, softly. The artist reaches up, twisting his fingers through the mane, plucking out a leaf absent-mindedly. “They were in a zoo… Monokuma said that if Gonta graduated, he would be able to know what happened to them.” He sucks in a breath, slowly, and his shoulders shake as his chin lowers to press to his collarbones. 

Kaede watches him grit his teeth, and it looks like he’s biting back tears, right there in front of them all. Her heart breaks a little. 

“But Gonta will not kill his friends!” He says, lifting his head, and he looks fierce, now, determined, eyes glinting behind his glasses. “Gonta… loves his wolf family. But Gonta can’t make them proud…. Not like this.” He glances around the group, a little anxious, like he’s worried they won’t believe them. “Gonta knows he looks… scary. And he doesn’t know a lot. And he’s not a true gentleman.... But he will not hurt friends!”

Kaede’s eyes prickle a little, and hastily, she reaches up to wipe them. No one seems to notice- except the barest twitch of Saihara’s head, but he’s looking away when she glances up from her sleeve. 

“Gonta,” Shirogane says softly, her voice high and airy and ever. “We believe you! We know you just want to keep us safe!”

"Did you watch the videos, when you took them?"

The whole class turns, as one, to look at Hoshi. The detective is leaning back against a pillar, gaze low, arms folded.

Ouma tilts his head, childish, playful, adorable. Like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Mayyyybe."

Hoshi nods. When he lifts his head, the threat in his dark eyes makes Kaede take a step back- dark, empty. It's like there's no ki in him at all; not in the same way that she lost hers, ccorrupted and used it, put a wall up and made her own energy something inaccessible and broken. No, this is... it's like every part of his soul has been drained out of him, like his dark eyes are just holes into an even darker room.   
"Then you know that not all of us have something worth killing for," he says, voice dark, gutted. 

Ouma doesn't flinch under the pressure of that gaze. "Oh, no, Hoshi-chan. I think that's just you!"

Hoshi turns his chin, spits sideways. Steps away from the pillar. "You oughta stop meddling with what doesn't affect you."

"Wahh! I'm just trying to help, you know!" Ouma's eyes water- his grip on his knife slips and falters. "These videos are serious!!! Do you guys _wanna_ lose the game?" He looks around the group frantically, and his expression is so wide-eyed and red and wet that Kaede almost- almost could feel sympathy for him. "Hoshi-chan just doesn't understand it 'cos his video doesn't have anyone in it at all!!"

Gonta turns to the detective uncertainly. "No one?"

Hoshi's black gaze falls to the ground. He tugs at his hat.

Ouma throws himself at Amami's side- the magician stumbles, but catches him, holding the boy as he weeps. "I- I'm just scared that Hoshi-chan is gonna snap and kill us all!! Those videos- there's something wrong with them!! He's gonna obsess over it! He's gonna go crazy! We have to stop him!"

"Ouma-kun, that's enough," Amami says, like he's chiding a kid. "Hoshi-kun isn't going to do anything like that."

"Besides, if anyone was going to kill someone, wouldn't it be you?" Harukawa mutters.

Ouma makes a show of wiping his eyes, bottom lip still trembling. "Just wait! You'll all see!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Iruma snaps. "Just tell us where they are, okay? No one's got time for your stupid games!"

Immediately, Ouma's mouth curls up in a sharp smile, hiding half his face behind Amami's arm. "I hid them."

"You... what?" 

"I hid them!"

Amami steps back, carefully detaching Ouma from his arm. "Where did you hide them?"

The assassin sticks his tongue. "It wouldn't be any fun if I just _told_ you, huh?"

"You little shit!" Momota steps forward- Kaede glues herself to his side, ready to hold him back if need be. "You can't just- do something like that! You're not the one in charge, here!"

"Geee, you're like kids with your favorite toys confiscated," Ouma moans, rolling his eyes. "Fine then, I'll give you a hint." He lifts a finger. "They're all hidden inside the main school building."

"...You say that like they're hidden in different places," Saihara notes, quietly. Kaede had almost forgotten he was there- she looks over at him supportively, but he's busy pulling up his mask.

Ouma slides back to his door, swinging back on the handle. "Well, I didn't want you all to find them all at once."

Harukawa scoffs, already turning away. "So you want us to look for them, then." 

"It's like a treasure hunt! Or a gacha! You don't know whose you're going to find!" Ouma sings.

"We've gotta get started, then!" Angie sings, clasping her hands together. "Don't worry! The light of god will guide us along our path!"

Already, the murmuring has begun again, people shuffling away, breaking off into groups and discussing the best places to search first. Ouma remains leaned against his door, arms folded behind his head, and he looks so pleased with himself that it makes Kaede nervous. That when Kaito grabs her hand and drags her forward excitedly, she can't help but glance back.

They search all day, until the school grows dim, and their feet are hurting, and everyone else has dropped off. Kaito doesn't want to stop- neither does she.   
But Shirogane coaxes them to come eat with the others, and she's right; unity is important right now.

The absense of her video leaves a bad taste in her mouth even as she eats the perfect food on her plate.

\--

As the rest of the class shuffle away to figure out their next moves, Shuichi lingers back. 

He watches until all the others have cleared away, until, for the second time in two days, he’s left alone with an assassin.  
(A few weeks ago, and the prospect would have chilled him. After the fifth solid day of sitting alone in that dark library, staring at the blood that couldn’t be- or deliberately wasn’t- cleaned completely from the ringleader’s secret door… or maybe the sixth? Time got a little blurry when you weren’t sleeping. But after a certain amount of time, alone in the dark, waiting for the person who _must_ be behind this, who must have forced Kaede’s hand…. He’d sort of gotten numb to feeling afraid.)  
(He’s still afraid, though. All the time.)

Shuichi reaches in his breastpocket. Withdraws his motive pad. Holds it out. 

Ouma, arms folded behind his head, stares with a blank expression.

“You didn’t take mine,” Shuichi says.

Ouma tilts his head. Smiles. “Think of it as payment,” he says. “For watching my lab. Now we’re even!”

Ouma’s eyes don’t flicker but glint, don’t budge from Shuichi’s face. He’s still smiling. 

“Are you… threatening me?” Shuichi asks, uncertainly. 

He blinks, picture of innocence. “Hm? Moi? What on earth do you mean?”

Shuichi sucks in a breath. He’s not really… good at this. At mind games, at whatever Ouma is playing at. But he _is_ a student of humanity, and he does… he likes to think he’s gotten a little more observant, after that awful, awful trial.  
“These… the motive pads are designed to drive us to commit murder,” he starts. “And you let me keep mine- and you know I kept mine. So, if I were to kill someone… you could easily turn me in. Unless I killed you.” He pauses. Ouma looks like a cat watching a mouse, tail trapped under his paw. “...but you’re an assassin. You’re basically telling me that you’re not scared of me.”

“Hmmmmmm,” Ouma hums, dropping his arms, pressing a finger into his cheek thoughtfully. “Astute observation, doctor Hannibal. Completely wrong, but astute!”

“Wrong?” Shuichi asks, still holding out the pad. 

Ouma grins, steps up, and plucks it from his fingers. He turns it over, goes to switch it on.  
Shuichi lets him.  
Then he sways up onto his tiptoes and tucks it back into Shuichi’s pocket, giving the fabric a little pat before he falls back onto his heels.

“Wrong!” He repeats, grinning insufferably. “I just wanted to give my beloved Saihara-chan a nice gift for being so helpful.”

“‘Not stealing from someone’ isn’t really a gift,” Shuichi replies, trying to pretend he isn’t a little embarrassed. Ouma is a liar, he knows that. 

“Geeeez, you’re such high maintenance! Shall I get you a lock of Akamatsu-chan’s hair instead?”

“Please don’t.”

The assassin winks as he steps back. “Thanks for not trying to break into my lab.”

Shuichi watches him, playful and uncaring and cruel. He can’t even begin to figure out what’s going on in Ouma’s head. 

“Let me know if you need me to help again,” he says. 

Ouma doesn’t reply, or look back. After a few more moments of lingering, Shuichi leaves.

Of course he hadn’t tried to break in. He wasn’t lying when he said he had no interest in getting the weapons, and he didn’t exactly want the others getting them either. He was also pretty confident that Ouma asking him to watch it was some sort of test- because when he’d been staring at the lab door the same way he stared at the door in the library, he’d been busy noting the obvious traps set up against it- the dead bolt, the legs of a chair visible in the crack beneath it, the glitter dusted over the front of it- he’d been careful not to lay a hand on any of it, lest he be caught sparkling-and-purple-handed. And those were the traps he’d noticed- he was fairly certain more would be set up inside. 

Shuichi doesn’t need to break into the lab. He’s okay slowly collecting notes on his companions, one at a time, even if the notes just amount to the fact that Harukawa tugs her twintails when she’s anxious or that Angie likes to fold little origami beetles when she’s on her own.

Setting a trap didn’t work. That was overzealous and stupid and dangerous and- Shuichi isn’t meant for stuff like that. He was never meant to outwit someone in battle. This, though- this, he can do. He can watch people. He can note them. And like this, he can catch the ringleader.

For the time being, though, all he notes is that Ouma clearly has some sort of plan.

\--

Motive videos. What a fucking joke. 

When Maki had switched hers on, already cynical, all that had been there for her was a wall of text.

 _Hey,_ it read. _No point recapping what you already know, huh? There might be people waiting for you outside this place, but you’ll never believe that we’ll let you go._ _  
_ _But if you play along, you’ll earn everything you’ve ever wanted. We’ll let you go back to everyone you don’t remember._ _  
_ _Just don’t let them catch you._

Fuck them. Fuck them. Fuck every single person involved in this stupid fucking-

She crumpled the can in her fist and resisted the urge to smash it against the wall. She wasn’t alone in the mess hall- Angie, Gonta, Shirogane all sitting at the table, and any one of them could be the ringleader. Maki really can’t afford to draw any more attention to herself than she already has.

It’s hard to keep a low profile when everyone already knows you as the girl who forgot her talent, though. Maki knows they watch her- she can feel Saihara’s eyes on her shoulders, Akamatsu anxiously fidgeting with her pigtails, Shirogane watching just a little too long after she says something she shouldn’t know.

Maki is convinced they know. They have to, right? They know, and they’re just waiting for her to slip up. For any excuse to slit her throat, after all her foreshadowing has been delivered and her overly-cautious character has been set up to serve a warning for the others. That motive video is the last piece of proof they need to cement her verdict.

She doesn’t remember anything before the game, anything but bits and pieces she can associate with herself, and even that- that, she doesn’t know how much of is real. How much of her memory is just her brain trying to fill gaps? How much is someone else filling those gaps for her?  
She doesn’t know what she was like, before. Or what she was like in the previous game. (She has a hunch, though. An awful, creeping, paranoid hunch, fingers hooked into her bones, a knife in her back. She has a hunch, and it’s not just from sitting at her desk and peering at her monopad over and over again.)

She doesn’t know what she was like before, but she knows who she is now. She won’t let them win. Not whoever’s running this whole, stupid charade, and not Ouma, who thinks he can just toy with them. As if he can play this like a game. As if he can win it.

It’s not a game, and they’re all stupid for thinking of it as anything but what it is- a colosseum, where one victory leads into another fight, where their debts will keep them cycling.  
She’s played before, apparently. How many times? At least once? More? 

The ultimate hunt. That flashback light- it settled in her memory in a way that made it feel like it was a lifetime ago. More must have happened since. She remembers it. She remembers the hunt.  
But she knows that it hasn’t ended. The ultimates were hunted. And they were caught.  
And any prize they offer at the end of it all is nothing more than bait.

“Maki!”

Maki startles- it’s been a long time since she’s- actually, she can’t remember the last time she heard someone use her first name. But here’s Angie, of course, leaning over the table and looking at her with sparkling eyes, so cheerful it’s almost offensive.

The entomologist tilts her head to the side, long, white tails of hair pooling over the table. “Are you alright? You look all grumpy!”

Maki glances sideways- Gonta is still leaning over the table, sketching on a napkin in blue and red pen, and Shirogane is sweeping in the corner- out of sight, out of mind. The maid is so quiet. It makes her nervous. 

Angie waits patiently for Maki’s attention to return to her, chin in her hands. Maki can half imagine a cat tail curling behind her- waiting impatiently for her dish to be delivered, for the adoration she’s so clearly earned. Angie is clever, but she thinks too highly of herself- Maki thinks she overheard her making a laughing joke to Chabashira about her society being somewhat matriarchal, a little while ago. Wrapped up like a gift in a soft, woven fabric that looks a little like linen- like peach fuzz, almost, yellow and white and blue, the scarab necklace swinging out in front of her as she leans forward.  
She’d be an embarrassingly easy target. Maki wonders if anyone has ever told her ‘no’.

“I’m fine,” says Maki, who is not particularly interested in ensuring the pleasure of a priestess/shaman/bug studier. She’s not here to cushion the feelings of the other students. 

_“Hey,” Kiibo told her, lying on his back in the grass, stargazing together. “You should try and make friends with the others!”_

_“We aren’t friends,” Maki had told him, coldly. He’d squawked, turned pink, insisted they were. She’d told him trusting her would get him killed._

He’d died only a few days later. She’s not sure how it still managed to take her by surprise. 

Angie’s smile is just as guileless as theirs was, fingers linked under her chin. She leaks sunshine all over the wood table. “You’d feel better if you prayed, you know.”

“I’m not going to convert to your stupid religion,” Maki said, eyes narrowed. 

Angie just laughed, and leaned forward. Her gaze’s intensity might have made someone else look away- the hint of a threat sparking in her pretty eyes. “You should apologize to god for speaking about him like that.”

Maki doesn’t blink. “There are more important things than spirituality right now.”

“False! False! Not true.” Angie sinks back, shaking her head, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The backs of her hands are tattooed, dark violet staining her skin in a series of symbols that mean absolutely nothing to Maki. “Times of death are the most important time to think about spirituality! You don’t want to die a sinner, do you, Maki?”

Maki, who is already a sinner, stares at the floor. In the corner of her eye, she can see Gonta, still sketching. His hands seem too big for the pens, just a little out of place- jerking in and out, red and blue and lines overlapping. 

“Do you want some cake?” Angie asks, instead, the previous topic completely dropped. Maki’s sure she’ll find a way to bring it up again.

She shakes her head, reaches instead, for one of the napkins surrounding Angie’s side of the table, and picks it up. 

An origami bug of some kind- a cricket, maybe? Angie’s folded about twenty in the time they’ve been sitting here, not eating. They’re so small. 

“There’s origami paper in the student store,” Angie hums happily, and then pauses. “But I don’t want to go and pick up all the monocoins around. So, napkins, for now!” She says it like she’s hoping Maki might offer to buy some for her. 

Maki’s seen the other “students” buying from the store, exchanging gifts, earning favors and friendship and soft conversation. She watches Akamatsu hand out wrapped sweets like she’s in a festival- watches her run up to catch up with Momota and hold out a water bottle for him, one each. She sees Amami handing Shirogane a lace handkerchief, watches the maid smile sweetly and invite him to chat for a while. Chabashira, darting out of the store with her arms full of electrical chips, looking sheepish. Gonta passing a pack of tarot cards and bandages to Shinguji.

She’s got plenty of money, of course- spoils of the trial, picked up from the backs of seats and inbetween shelves. But she doesn’t see the point in spending it on the others. She’s not really… like them.  
She wonders if she was, once.

“They’re locusts,” Angie continues, cheerfully, seemingly unbothered by all that silence, picking up another and holding it up to the one in Maki’s hand as if she’s making them kiss. “ _Locusta Migratoria._ But we just call them hungry travellers. They’ll eat an entire harvest, when they arrive, and you can’t just stop them when they come in their thousands.” She sighs, in her kind of dreamy, removed way, like the world she lives in is utterly removed from reality. “They’re a symbol of devastation. Even one can be a sign of more following.” She leans forward again, clasped hands resting against her collarbones. “I can tell just from the weather when they arrive. God guides my hand, and I always keep us fed when they come through our fields.”

“How?” Maki asks, frowning. “You just said that you can’t stop them. Don’t they eat everything?”

“Mhm!” She hums, a melody in her words, and then follows it up with a smile that, while no less cheerful, is a little dark again. “But we can always eat them, too.”

Maki thinks of that- thousands of locusts, feasting away on a field of crops, devastating a community’s foodsource. Farmers, coming out with nets. Leaving with a different kind of crop, chittering and dark and beating against their cages. 

Her throat tickles like something is crawling down it. 

Angie picks up another napkin, unfolded, and folds it into halves, and then quarters, before tearing it neatly down the middle. “Here,” she says, holding out one square. “I’ll teach you how to make them! They’re super easy. You just have to make sure you get the legs!”

Maki takes the paper with clumsy fingers. Angie nods encouragingly.

“I’ll teach you,” she says, again.

Maki wonders why these bright personalities keep reaching out to her and offering her comfort. She supposes it’s part of being ultimate, being that full of hope. 

She thinks back to her motive video, and tries not to wonder when the next one will break.

\--

 _Thousands of people, who all depend on you. A political movement to shape society. A justice that_ **_will_ ** _be delivered._ _  
_ _This country needs changed, Tojo Kirumi! It needs protected, before the real threat comes to end us all! Who will do it, if not you?_

Loathe as she is to agree with Ouma on- anything, really (what a despicable excuse for a citizen; she’ll protect him despite his lawlessness but she won’t be _happy_ about it)- but perhaps he had a point about the motive videos getting in your head.

Kirumi watched hers about two hundred times, just that first day. In between checking in with the others. Assisting Shirogane. Gently talking to Akamatsu until the girl got flustered and sent her away. Watching the more suspicious figures with a close eye. Mapping out a potential schedule, giving her opinion on when to eat together. Knocking on Chabashira’s lab door. Making tea with an overly-enthusiastic Angie.

All night, lying in bed.

In her defense, though, she thinks her motives are _slightly_ more important than everyone else’s.

How could she forget how important her movement was? How could she forget about the danger they needed to defend from?

 _The Ultimate Hunt._ She knew- she knew, somehow, that she was linked to it, intrinsically. Not- the hunt, obviously not, she’d been running from it as much as the rest of them had. But…

And it eludes her again, slips from her fingers like soap in the shower, dishwashing liquid, the silk of her ties. The ultimate hunt. The ultimate hunt. Was this the threat she was meant to prevent? Was this the threat she was meant to elude? 

Is this- the killing game, the school they’re trapped in. Was this the result of the ultimate hunt? Has she failed?

_Tojo Kirumi, the Ultimate Supreme Leader. The answers to all your questions wait for you upon graduation._

“Tojo? Everything alright?”

She looks up, sharply, and then quickly forces herself to relax, sending over a gentle smile. “Of course, Amami-kun. My apologies, this whole mess has had me a little on edge.”

The magician makes a sympathetic sound, leaning back in his chair, feet on the table. It’s a kind of casualness Kirumi has never really experienced herself. “I don’t blame you,” he says, a green curl slipping between his eyes. “It’s a nasty business- and Ouma’s made it nastier, somehow.”

“We’re all in agreement, then?” She asks, lifting her chin. “We need to retrieve the videos?”

Hoshi, opposite side of the table, scoffs as he finishes shuffling. He deals cards out between the three of them swiftly, then picks up his own, eyeing Amami suspiciously (he’d stated he didn’t trust a magician to shuffle, before, but Amami had just rolled up his sleeves and laughed good-naturedly.) 

They’re in the game room, again- Tojo hadn’t come down since the investigation, but when Hoshi suggested the four of them meet up to discuss what to do about the motive videos, it had seemed like the most sensible place to discuss.  
Particularly because nobody really comes down here, anymore. Kiibo’s blood still stains the library door. H1M1’s wires can be found, if you look carefully, tucked under and between cracks in the cold cement floor. 

Shirogane squints at her cards, then adjusts her glasses. “Plainly, I think it’s the best move,” she says, softly. “They might be motives, but… I’m sure Monokuma expected something like this. Besides, it… it feels wrong, to give Ouma-kun such control.” She looks over the table. “Um, Hoshi-kun, do you have any threes?”

The detective grunts and tosses over a card. 

They’d gathered together because, frankly, they seemed the most mature out of the others. Not that Akamatsu isn’t respectable, or that Chabashira isn’t clever, or that Momota isn’t good-natured, but there’s a certain…. Life experience they all seem to lack. Shinguji has it, maybe, but he’s not exactly trustworthy. 

"You're right," Amami replies, frowning over the table. "Personally, I think he has a point- I don't think it's good to just... go along with the motives. But I also don't like the implications of him having a monopoly on the other motives. _Especially_ after his lab opened up, right?"

"Amami. Got any sixes?" Hoshi demands, pushing up the brim of his hat. 

"Unfortunately, yes." The magician slides one over to the detective, watching Hoshi set a pair aside. "Ah, is it my turn?" His eyes meet Kirumi's, and his brow smooths. "Tojo-san, any aces?"

She shakes her head, watches him pick a card from the center of the table. "I'm in agreement. I think the best course of action is to review the motives as a group, and then assess whether to return them to their original owners."  
No one can see hers, of course. She'll break it, or lose it intentionally, or hide it in her room. For the time being, though, she needs to keep suspicion off her. "Hoshi-kun. Do you have a queen?"

Hoshi grunts, swinging back on the legs of his chair. "Go fish."

"Hoshi-kun," Shirogane says, softly, not even looking up from her cards. The dim light of the game room blinks in the lenses of her glasses, echoing. "I'm sorry, this must be difficult for you. Are you sure.... you're okay helping?"

The detective is silent for a while- like he hasn't even registered the question, staring down at his hand. He doesn't blink. "Yeah."

Kirumi supposes they are two sides of the same coin- one with nothing to depend on, one with far too much. They sit opposite each other, parallel. It's a miracle he even gets out of bed.

Her campaign, even removed from the imminent threat it needs to prevent, could help him. She's looking for more rehabilitation in prisons, longer sentences with a more even court system. Kirumi could take him into therapy, set up support systems, show him how to be thankful for the virtue of his own life. She's done it before. Her prowess as a leader doesn't just come from her wit, or her attitude, but what she can do for her community. 

"Tojo-san, do you have a jack?" Shirogane asks, voice gentle. 

She shakes her head. "Go fish."

\--

When Hoshi knocks on Kaede’s door that night, she has such a strong sense of deja-vu that it almost knocks her over.

 _(Figure A: a boy, quiet, slips into her room to tell her about a plan to fix the game. He is determined even if he won’t meet her eyes._ _  
_ _Figure B: The same, but different.)_

The detective looks her over slowly, then crosses his arms. Kaede, already in her nightgown, blinks at him.

“We’re going to distract Ouma and do a proper sweep of the school tomorrow for the videos,” he tells her. “See if we can block off his lab, too, while we’re at it.”

“That seems… smart,” she agrees. At least, the lab part does. “Um, why are you telling me?”

Hoshi shrugs a shoulder. “Figured I’d give you ‘n Momota a heads up. We’re probably gonna watch people’s videos when we find ‘em, so if you wanna try and grab yours, you might as well.”

“Right,” she says, a little dazed. “Um, thank you. I’ll tell him about it tomorrow.”

Hoshi nods, pulling his hat as he turns to leave- no longer in his jacket, just a white button up and tie. “Lock your door,” he tells her as he goes.

Kaede falls back in bed and stares at the ceiling. 

On one hand, her video isn’t really… anything bad. She’s not ashamed of people seeing her sister. On the other, something about imagining it out there in the school makes unease creep up her spine.  
...On the other, other hand, she’s not particularly in the mood to mess with Ouma. But there are others doing it too, according to Hoshi. So maybe it’s okay?

Momota will definitely want to do- something. Anything he can, to help out. But they could always focus on trying to block off the lab. 

The motive videos make her so, so uneasy. The way they just… sparked her memories. The implicit threat. Ouma’s words. The fact she’d been drawn to keep watching it, over and over again.

But. She doesn’t like the idea of someone else finding her motive video- likes it even less than she likes the idea of keeping it. 

She lies awake, hands folded on her stomach, the hair spilling around her pillows glinting silver in the night. Kaede feels like a completely different person than she was when she first woke up here. No longer an aikido master. Almost-murderer. Lost ki. Fool. Child. Adult. Sidekick. Sister. She doesn’t know if she can sleep like this.

At least this way, the nightmares will be staved off a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! time for that PROPER audience partip! remember how i said (may affect plot?) well, this one will DEFINITELY affect plot. not necessarily for better or worse. not necessarily to decide who dies. not necessarily to do with the FTEs or future events. there's no right answer! all this does is sort of... change how things might go down. (and maybe what goes down.)  
> https://strawpoll.com/6uaxdopwe
> 
> kaito/kaede friendship lives rent free in my brain now i got emotional about it last night when it was very late and i was trying to get this stupid chapter done. they are friends. they play tennis. they are so positive. 
> 
> sonata no. 9 is a good song. go and turn off all your lights, set a candle, sit down at your desk, and give it a listen. maybe write something at the same time. don't look over your shoulder. there's nothing there.
> 
> next chapter should ideally take me a week and NOT be 20k words this absolutely ruined me. my brain switches off after about 10k i hate this im sorry it took me so long im NEVER doing this again its bad writing frankly


	7. missed blind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaede stands next to Kaito as the elevator descends again, her satchel heavy with carefully collected evidence at her side. The motive video burns through her hip. 
> 
> “Hey,” Kaito says. “It’s gonna be okay, Kaede. You just rely on me, okay? You’re my sidekick, so… I’ll take responsibility for any decisions you make.” His brow creases a little, sheepish. “Of course, the tennis champion of the world can get through anything on his own, but… I’ll need your help, okay? So you just do your best and know that I’m there for you!”
> 
> It’s almost funny- it’s such a flip between the first trial. Kaede had been the one comforting, then.  
> Her eyes slide across the tiny box to reach Saihara. He’s looking grimly ahead. She can’t even begin to fathom what he’s thinking. 
> 
> “Together,” Kaede breathes out, and she wonders if. If maybe something will happen here that pushes Kaito away from her, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (minor note here: this chapter has a scene from korekiyo's pov. i've decided to drop the incest part of his backstory as it's not something i feel comfortable writing about or confident that i could portray with the necessary thoughtfulness. HOWEVER, there are still heavy allusions to abuse, it's just not sexual.)
> 
> also i know it has! been a while! i have notes ill post on tumblr about why this chapter specifically took so long but the tldr of that is! the next one will be out much, much sooner. and is already underway. despite the big wait im hoping this is lengthy and enjoyable enough to get people back into the story!!! i have some scenes i really like here and some i dont! and also some i gave up on bc it's. look by the time i got over 20k words i was just trying to wrap it up. unfortunately i left some of the plot for last. im formally apologizing 
> 
> also gore warning! :partying_emoji:

_“Kaede…”_

_The shoelaces felt awkward in her fingers, lacing up the loafers in slow, stiff motions. She twists the knot twice instead of looking back, then tugs up her socks. Brushes down the skirt and tries not to feel too exposed without her shorts underneath- the lack of ruffles in her skirt like a missing cushion._

_Her mother’s voice lingers in the silence. She picks up her bag._

_“It’s only until this cools down, right?” She asks, as if she can expect an answer._

_Mother, mentor, aunt- she nods, and Kaede knows she thinks she would be safer here, safer at home, surrounded by aikido masters who are trained to protect and to defend but Kaede cannot put her home in danger any more than she can keep her hands from trembling around the tie hanging down her chest._

_“I’ll be fine,” she says, twirling around to pump her fists- drawing up her ki, bringing a spark to her eyes that she usually saves for matches. Her mother’s expression softens. “I won’t get hurt, I promise. And I won’t hurt anyone else.”_ By staying here _, she leaves unsaid._

_They hug. Kaede’s satchel squashes between them awkwardly. She buries her face in her mother’s shoulder and blinks back tears, and tries not to think about how this is the second time she’s been sent away from her family. It’s for the best. It’s what the government recommended._

_When she pulls back, she thinks, for a moment, she sees her mother’s eyes shining. But it must just be the light in the dojo, because her mentor doesn’t cry. She’s too at peace for that._ _  
_ _(One day, Kaede will get there too! She just needs to get through this first.)_

_“You’ll be back home before you know it,” the master murmurs, and the student bows her head._

_“...Write to my parents for me, okay? And... “_

_A squeeze on her arm. Warm, gentle hands. Her mother- aunt- is smiling._

_“When you return, I’ll have reached out to them. I’m sure she misses you.”_

_Kaede inhales, shaky, and then smiles again._

_“I love you,” she whispers._

_“And I you, my darling.”_

_They hugged again, and Kaede tried not to think about how she might never feel it again._

_\--_

_“Hi, my name’s-” She almost slipped on the introduction, but remembered the name that wasn’t her own. Her hair was tied in tight braids. She didn’t feel like herself. “Um, I just moved here with my dad! Please take care of me!”_

_The classroom lit up with murmurs, and Kaede felt them staring, burned under it all._

_Directed to a seat at the back of the class, she tried to ignore the eyes on her. She sat with a crowd of girls she didn’t know at lunch, and they were all kind, but they weren’t the same. Kaede grew up without internet access for most of her life, and she can barely keep up._ _  
_ _All she really had was her talent, and she wasn’t allowed to talk about that now._

_\--_

_Taking the train home to an empty apartment. Checking her phone for any sign of improvement. Going back to a school with friends she cares for and laughs with and lies to, every single day. Eating alone in front of the television and watching the news. Binging anime after anime she never had time to watch before._

_\--_

_A boy tries to put his hand up her skirt at lunch one day. She shoves his face into the dirt and holds his arm behind his back until he apologizes and promises not to tell anyone._ _  
_ _She doesn’t think she hurt him, but he looked terrified when he crept away. She has a panic attack in the bathroom, anyway._

_\--_

_Standing on the train alone, because she lives far away from where the rest of their classmates might see her lonely flat. Clutching her satchel to her chest so no one tries to steal from her again._

_“God, did you hear?”_

_“What?”_

_“About the_ **_ultimate hunt._ ** _”_

Her whole body goes stiff.

_“They got one of ‘em last night.”_

_“You’re kidding.”_

_“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. Apparently they were mopping her guts off the floor. Just went completely fucking crazy- like smelling blood in the water. She was in a crowd, and the second they found out… just like that.”_

_“Jesus.”_

_The conversation dims for a moment as they go through a tunnel, rattling too loud to make anything else out._

_“-But honestly, I kinda can’t blame them. I think I’d go rabid if I saw one of those privileged little shits.”_

\--

Shirogane clicks the flashlight and lowers it as the rest of them blink the memories out of their eyes. 

“Care to explain,” she begins, her voice as soothingly high and soft as ever, “why you would hide this from us, Ouma-kun?”

Ah. Not- not school. Not the train. Not running away.

The dining hall. The ultimate academy. The killing game. 

Ten students, sprawled around the table in various states of recovery. There’s a boy next to her- Kaito. Her friend. His bright purple jacket hurts her eyes when he slings an arm around her shoulder and groans about his head, but she leans into it anyway and stares at the floor. 

Shirogane stands in front of them all, still holding the flashback that dropped what feels like a month’s worth of memories into Kaede’s head and then shook her up to make sure they’d bounced around her grey matter for a while before sinking in. They’re still sinking in. Still coming in flashes and beats- a general sense of everything she’s experienced settling inside her, a new mix of weary emotions joining her current ones, sleeping under the surface of it all. And specific memories, too- if she thinks too hard, they’re the only ones she can recover, still blinking in her brain.  
Next to Shirogane- Amami and Tojo, on either side. Leader and maid and magician; determined and nervous and relaxed. Kaede meets Amami’s eye and he gives her a reassuring smile. Hoshi, nearby, is leaning against the wall and watching them all with dark eyes. 

The four of them had called the rest of the group together that morning to look at the flashback light- a name Shirogane had coined, apparently - after they’d managed to ‘confiscate’ it from Ouma. None of them elaborated on what this entailed and Kaede is trying not to feel uncomfortable about it.

Ouma shrugs a shoulder, seeming completely unbothered despite the number of glares directed his way. “I gave it to you when you asked nicely,” he says, playing with a knife he picked from the table. Unlike the rest of them, he seems largely unaffected by the light- he must have used it on himself, before. “I just don’t see how it’s going to help us escape. And that’s what you guys want, right? To escape? How’s this relevant?”

“How,” Tojo begins, a note of something carefully repressed in her voice, “is this _not_ relevant?”

“We’re in here because of the ultimate hunt…?” Angie says, still sounding a little dazed. She presses a hand to her own cheek, squishing it up. “Did they catch us?”

“Well, we don’t know that the two are linked for certain,” Amami says, soothingly. 

“Unless anyone remembered anything relevant to our capture,” Hoshi tacks on, a little pointed. 

Shirogane shakes her head, pressing a finger to her cheek. “I just have the oddest sense that I’m missing something… I just… I’m sure I got caught.”

“But do you remember getting caught?” Harukawa challenges her, voice stretched tight in the morning sun. She sighs, heavily. “Seriously, you all run off assumptions way too much.”

“Well, what about you?” Ouma challenges her, chin in his hands, grinning across the table. Next to him, Saihara sips coffee, eyes closed as he… thinks? Processes? Plots? He still won’t look at Kaede. “You don’t remember your talent, riiiight? But you remember the hunt.”

Harukawa’s silence is pointed. The entire room turns to stare at her, and she physically shrinks back, pulling at her pigtails and staring at the floor. She’s kind of cute when she gets nervous- although Kaede feels a little guilty for thinking so. 

After a few moments, she seems to find herself, voice tight. “....I remember the hunt.” A long pause. “And I don’t remember my talent, but I remember losing it.”

The whole group bursts into murmuring. Kaito perks up, shoulder pressing against Kaede’s as he leans across the table. “That’s great, Harukawa!” He says, giving her a friendly wink that makes her cheeks flush pink (also cute.) “If you remember that, you might remember how to find it again!” He nudges Kaede just a little, and she _knows_ he’s trying to comfort her. He’s not exactly subtle, but, still, she smiles, biting her lip a little. Kaito’s presence is so reassuring.  
“...” Harukawa lifts her chin a little, staring out the window. “Similar to the flashlight, I think. I was kidnapped by a group of people. Said death would be too good for me. They took my talent instead- and most of my memories with it.”

Something cold and heavy settles in Kaede’s stomach. “Harukawa-san,” she says, softly. “I’m so sorry.”

Harukawa shrugs, picking at her scrunchies. “It’s no big deal. I don’t remember anything else, so…”

Next to her, Angie shuffles over to take her hand, squeezing it tight. “It’s okay!” The entomologist says, her eyes crinkling as she smiles. “In the next life, God will be sure to reunite you with your identity. Through prayer and patience, you’ll be able to overcome this!!”

“I don’t pray,” Harukawa replies flatly.

“Was this the same or separate from the kidnapping we all remember taking place before we showed up here?” Hoshi cuts in. He’s not even looking at her- he’s taken a seat on one of the window sills, a hand cupped around the end of his cigarette as he lights it. 

“...The same,” Harukawa answers. 

“So they’re definitely linked, right?” Chabashira chimes in, voice high and torn. “If- if Harukawa-san lost her talent when she was kidnapped, and that was because of the ultimate hunt, and we all got kidnapped too-”

“But Harukawa is the only person to lose memories?” Gonta answers in reply, voice soft as he adjusts his glasses. His collar is covered in black ink, splattered and washed out, and he keeps adjusting it nervously, like he’s embarrassed by the presence of any stains at all. “Gonta… remembers going back into the wild to go hide. But when Gonta was kidnapped, they took him in the city…”

Kaede stares down at her hands on the table, frowning. “That’s true,” she murmurs. “I.. I went into hiding, but I remember being in my hometown when I was kidnapped. And that’s the last thing I remember.”

“Here’s the question;” Shinguji hums, cradling his cheek with a kind of thoughtfulness that makes Kaede shift in her seat. “In what order did these events happen? Is it possible that this kidnapping is what encouraged us to flee?”

“I-it’s true that I don’t really… remember the order of what happened,” Chabashira says, twisting her fingertips together. “But- but that doesn’t mean that I agree with the degenerate!!”

Saihara, at the end of the table closest to the door, is silent. 

“This… feels kind of like the motive videos,” Angie murmurs, her brow furrowed. “Like… It’s hard to describe. I feel kind of dizzy.” Immediately, Chabashira checks if she’s okay. The girl laughs in response, but even she can’t quite save the atmosphere- fuzzy, dreamike, just a little too off.

Amami crosses his arms in front of him, one hand drifting to his face. “I know what you mean. I felt the same way when we used it… There’s just something off about it all.”

“So- so we need to find the videos,” Gonta says, woozy but determined. He pushes back his hair, the mess of dark brush, then gives the group a wide smile. “It will be okay! Gonta thinks that… when everything is put together, it will make more sense.”

The class turns to glare at Ouma. He grins back, all teeth, arms folded behind his head as he rocks back in his chair.  
“I told you,” he says, lying, “I’m doing you a favor. You’re all obsessing over those videos like weebs who’ve found super exclusive editions of your favorite hentai. It’s super embarrassing to watch.”

“You don’t get to make that decision for everyone,” Shirogane says, something flashing behind her glasses. “You’re not the one in charge! We’re meant- you’re not meant to control everything!”

He swings back on the chair again, kicks a foot up on the table. Iruma shifts away from him with a muttered remark about his ugly boots burning her eyes. Twirling a knife between his knuckles, he looks over the room, right at Shirogane. “You don’t know that,” he says, and his expression has gone far too blank. “We never did find the ringleader, right? Akamatsu-chan’s plan failed.” He pauses, and then smiles again. “And not all of us have alibis.”

“Is this a confession?” Shinguji asks, thoughtful. Ouma grins. 

Kaede’s heart wavers in her throat. She forces her voice to come out anyway- weak, tremulous. “Remember,” she murmurs. “Ouma-kun couldn’t have come downstairs without getting past me and Saihara. It doesn’t matter if he has an alibi then.”

(...Does it? Kaede committed the crime. H1M1 took the blame. If… if there is a ringleader at all _-and how can she suspect anyone here, after what she’s done, how can she hold any of them in contempt-_ Does it matter, if they had an alibi or not? They weren’t the one who did it.)

(....Wouldn’t they have had to go and release the monokumas? Was that an empty threat? Did they know H1M1’s programming would give them the kill they wanted, anyway?)

“So what do we do?” Gonta asks, hesitant. 

Tojo sighs. Steps forward. Smiles at them all gently as she bows her head.

“Well, first, let’s eat,” she says. “Shirogane-san, may I help you with anything?”

\--

The morning stretches on, and Kaito sits restlessly at the table and tries not to stress. The usual troublemakers file out early- Saihara, grabbing the entire coffeepot and scurrying out the door before Kaito can grab his shoulder, and Ouma, after picking at a bowl of dried seaweed and sliding one of the kitchen knives up his sleeve. He still waves as the anthropologist goes, and Saihara pulls his mask even higher and turns away- but Kaede shifts next to him, and then there’s nothing else to think of but cheering her up.  
Weirdly, Harukawa stays for breakfast today, lingers even after she’s finished her plate of egg-fried rice and sliced tomatoes. Kaito tries to smile across the table at her, but the more he looks, the more she looks away, and the harder he smiles- until tersely, she tells him to wipe the stupid grin off his face before she does it for him. She doesn’t do it, though, so Kaito takes that as a win and nudges Kaede again- see, progress!  
Tojo directs conversation around the motive videos in a soothing kinda way that reminds him of his grandmother, almost. 

Kaito eats, despite the nausea. He remembers the look on his grandfather’s face every time he saw him stumble from the bathroom, the look on his coach’s face every time he stepped on the scales. (There’s a reason he had to forge his applications to the tennis leagues. He’s not a cheat, no matter what they say.) So he piles his plate with eggs and almonds and rice, and helps fill Kaede’s, too, and prods at her when she only picks at it. Contrary to her, he eats the whole thing, and then takes seconds, and then feels pretty pleased with himself for having everything under control despite not having his medicine. If Monokuma thinks he can threaten him with that, he’s got another thing coming!

Kaito tries not to think about his video, and about Kaede pulling him aside before they went to the dining hall, but it plays on his mind as Tojo stands at the table, clearing her throat politely. He’s pretty sure he knows what this is about- and he’s right, ‘cos she’s talking about how her and Amami and Shirogane are going to form an organized sweep of the school today. They ask if anyone wants to join them, and Kaito curls his hands up and looks sideways.

His first instinct is to jump in and help, but Kaede said she wanted to sit it out- that Hoshi had mentioned it to her the night before. It still doesn’t settle right with him, ignoring the issue and watching the others run around, but… she made some good arguments, he guesses. Nothing against their weird student government up there, but he feels weird having them go out and make decisions behind everyone’s backs- like, why don’t they all plan together as a group? He’s not sure why Hoshi said anything to Kaede, but he’s glad for the warning. (Why didn’t they put him on the council, huh?)  
Still, they’re offering now, and he trusts Tojo, who speaks passionately somehow without raising her voice (Kaede would say something about ki, probably, if she weren’t looking around the room all tense and thoughtful), and he trusts Amami, who’s a good guy down to the core and fun to hang out with, and he trusts Shirogane who works hard to make them all comfortable- and he even trusts Hoshi, who tries to keep his nose out of everyone’s business but still eats with them. He might’ve killed people before, but Kaito’s heard the story. He gets it! Everyone can change, and Hoshi’s not gonna do any harm. He’s sure of that.

Gonta jumps up to offer assistance, and, begrudgingly, Chabashira lifts her hand and mumbles something about wanting to do her bit to help. Kaito would give her a thumbs up, but she’s pretty frosty toward him- weird repressed man issues, or something. Maybe Kaede can help her get over them- she’s kinda one of the guys, with all her sports and stuff, so she’s probably a good midway point. 

Hoshi, sighing, says he’ll be hanging around in the game room and that they can come chat to him if they find anything and want him to take a look- but that he makes no promises. And that’s exactly why Kaito believes in him, even if Hoshi refuses any and all attempts to hang out and smokes so frequently that Kaito’s lungs burn just standing next to him. He gives the detective a big thumbs up and is rewarded with a blank expression, but he knows he’s getting somewhere. Practically no one can resist his charms!

Harukawa, though, breaks the spell. She stands up and shoves her chair in, ignoring Shirogane when she hurries over to neaten it up. “I’ll search on my own,” she says, low-voiced. “I don’t exactly have much reason to trust any of you, especially if you’re working together.”

Tojo frowns, just a little, bowing her head. “I am sorry to hear that, Harukawa-san,” she says, in that same reassuring way. “If there is anything I can do to make you more at ease, please let me know. It's in our best interests to collaborate."

"No," Harukawa says, quietly. "You're only playing into their hands."

She leaves before clarifying. Kaito figures she's probably feeling pretty nervous about Ouma's whole deal.

After Harukawa, Kaede gives her apologies, and Kaito follows her- she says something like "I'd like to try and focus more on investigating the school," and everyone looks at her sympathetically- it's fucking bizarre, how she can't see how much they all respect her. But Kaito raises his hands and says he's sticking with her, and she smiles so bright that it's no surprise everyone lets it go without arguing.  
Angie says that the videos are better unfound, and that it's up to God whether they are. Iruma says she'll wait for the rest of them to do the work for her. Shinguji quietly says he might join them later, but needs to _recenter_ himself with some Tchaikovsky, whatever that means.

The searchers head out, and the rest of them hang back.   
  


He figures it'll all be okay. If they don't show up, he and Kaede can maybe look around when she's more comfortable.

\--

Korekiyo lingers in the dining hall until late morning, watching. His fingers itch with every movement, but he continues to eat anyway- slow, composed, as his skin scratches through his bones. He wants to go back to his lab- he wants to _play,_ but today is going to require a patience he’s carefully curated.

He doesn’t pay much mind to the men- who file out swiftly, anyway, charging after Tojo and Shirogane and Harukawa. (Two out of three match his standards perfectly, but something makes him a little on edge. There’s something sharp in Tojo’s eyes that he recognizes in himself- a _timbre,_ EB Major, cruel, hard- full of devotion. He’s not one to take gambles. And Shirogane, equally devoted, judgemental despite it.)

He watches Saihara come in- (D# minor, existential angst, distress), shrink back from Iruma (E major- bothersome, passionate, incomplete pleasure) and dismisses them both with little further thought, although he notes Saihara’s eyes lingering on his hands when Kiyo reaches for the tea. Iruma is nothing- he can feel a familiar curl of the lip, someone else’s sneer echoed on his face.  
Sister had always hated girls like that. So pretty, and healthy, and clever- only to throw it all away. He’s seen Iruma raiding the warehouse for cough syrup and hand sanitizer- and she’s not sick. She might fiddle with her clothes and her shouts when she pricks herself might be audible through the dorms, but there’s nothing of substance there.

Sister hated people who threw their talents away. He hated them, too- and he still does now, the filth of humanity. Is there any purer joy than devoting yourself to something? To loving it with your whole heart? 

His gaze drifts over the room again- mostly empty, now, save the few who have chosen to sit out of the little scavenger hunt, finishing their meals. Once again, he lets his gaze pass over them.

It’s a surprise that Akamatsu didn’t jump up and throw herself into it, but he’s not shocked, either. She’s clearly shaken by the events of the last trial, and the motive videos have them all shaken, out of shape- 

**(sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sister sistersister sister sister sistersister sister sister sistersister sister sister sistersister sister sister sistersister sister sister sistersister sister sister sister)**

-goodness knows that the disappearance seemed to only make the group more reliant on them. Kiyo is aware enough to know it doesn’t sit quite right, but then again; he’s always had a problem with obsession. 

Akamatsu is quiet, although that probably won’t last long- just until Momota has finished whatever argument he’s pursuing with Iruma. She’s pensive, pushing almonds onto her tongue, taking no joy from the food whatsoever. Every so often, though, when Momota gets a little too loud, she’ll lift her head and smile over at him, her whole face lightened by the gesture. She’s colored like a peach, pink-eyed, blonde-haired, sitting in the sun of the yellow dining hall.

Ripe.

“Akamatsu-san,” Kiyo says politely, setting down his teacup but leaving his bandaged hands wrapped around it for warmth. “You’re looking thoughtful. May I ask what’s on your mind?”

She startles- and then slips back into one of those smiles; touched, a little flattered. (C minor, innocently cheerful.) “Oh, Shinguji-kun… It’s nothing, really. I’m just wondering how Shirogane-san and Tojo and… everyone is doing.”

“Please, call me Kiyo,” he reminds her, smiling right back. “You seem worried.”

“Ah… I guess I am, a little!” She shrugs a shoulder, as if she’s flaking the gesture off, her eyes all crinkled. “I’m fine, though. I believe in all of them! And… if they don’t find the videos, then..” She trails off, her brow creasing just a little. It makes him think of silk.

Korekiyo tilts his head, lifting the cup again and taking a slow sip. “I’m a little surprised you didn’t volunteer for the search. Although I’m sure everyone would understand if you needed more time- the last trial affects us, still.” He bows his head in mourning; a waste of life, truly. (...although the robot really doesn’t count.) 

“Oh, no, it’s not that!” She sits upright suddenly, all poise and earnestness- wide eyes widening. “I’m really fine, Kiyo, don’t worry about me at all! Akamatsu Kaede is still here to protect all of you!” She holds her fists in front of her; enthused, excited- almost believable “It’s just…” And the gesture deflates a little, a frown crossing her face. “I almost wonder if it’s a good idea, to find them.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head. Interesting indeed. “What makes you say that?”

Akamatsu continues to frown, setting her elbows on the table, and then her chin in her fists- a small huff of breath. Her whole frame moves when she breathes, idle animation in the purest sense of the word. “It’s just… I mean, I know- I want mine back _so_ badly, too. And I.. I think Tojo-san’s idea to watch them all together is a good one. But.” She stops. 

Korekiyo releases one hand from his mug, gesturing outward encouragingly. 

She stares at him for a moment, then looks away. “...I wonder if….what if this is what Monokuma wants?” Lowers her head to stare at her plate. “I mean… everyone’s scattered around, looking for them. A-and they are showing our most important people-” (Kiyo tunes out for a moment here, his mind blanking away from anything that isn’t the adagissimo of sonata no. 9) “-with everyone so caught up about them, it just feels like maybe… maybe this is what he wants.”

Korekiyo doesn’t particularly care about what Monokuma does or does not want. He doesn’t really have much of a problem with their current arrangements. His talent lab is open, his companions are interesting, it’s clear this game won’t last more than a few months at most.  
But perhaps Akamatsu has a point.

He sets his mug aside and taps his fingers over the table, a half-hearted arpeggio. (If he tried that at a piano, he’d earn a shriek in his ear.) “I see. You must be awfully tense, worrying over the scenario like that.” He lifts his gaze from his hands to Akamatsu’s face, and smiles again. “All the others have decided to lay their trust in our leaders, but I suppose your own experiences have left you a little raw, no?”

She looks away, fingers curved around the edge of the table. Korekiyo laughs at her, softly, only an edge of mockery to the sound. She really is a gem, isn’t she? He’s not surprised she manages to command so much respect from the group. Despite or because of her actions. It doesn’t matter. There’s something intrinsic to her.

“Akamatsu-san,” he says, interlacing his fingers over the table, tilting his head to the side. “Would you like to listen to me play today?”

“H-huh?” She lifts her head, a little startled. 

“You have an interest in piano. I could teach you a little, if you wanted. The gymnopedies are known as the most soothing pieces of music ever created- and they’re not too hard to learn. _Adagio,_ slow paced. I would be happy to teach you.”

Akamatsu blinks at him. For a moment, he wonders if she might refuse the offer.  
Then her shoulders lift. “Okay! Thank you so much, Shi- Kiyo. That’s really sweet of you.”

“Please.” He smiles, all white teeth. “It’s my pleasure.”

“Well, should we go now, or-”

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I would hate to show you anything I hadn’t warmed up for. Would it be alright if we met later? You could join me at my lab.” Unfolding his hands, he sets them on the table, stares at the bandages. “All I ask is that you don’t bring Momota.” 

“Ah.. haha.” Her voice is tremulous, capriccio. “He means well. I think he worries…” 

He has good reason to worry. Korekiyo sees his own hunger reflected in the eyes of those around him. They all have something to satiate.

He’s about to make an offer of time- late evening, the same time she usually slips out to the tennis player’s lab, the same time everyone expects them to be training together- when said tennis player stands up, his chair clattering on the floor.  
“Kaede!” He yells out, overly-familiar, a speck of rice on his face. Kiyo’s lip curls. “C’mon, the game room is free and I gotta kick your ass at pool!”

“You’ll have to teach me how to play first!” She calls back, standing up. And then she pauses, looks back to Korekiyo. Her brow creases, her smile sympathetic. “Oh. Um, can we reschedule? Later today?”

He considers it, then waves her off. “Tomorrow, perhaps. I’m aware everyone is full of plans, today.”

“Okay! I- thank you so much, Kiyo. Really. It means a lot that you’ve offered.” Akamatsu pauses a moment, chewing her bottom lip. “I… I really do like piano music a lot, so… I have a lot of admiration for you. I’m excited to learn a little!”

“Of course.” He bows his head, but still catches her cheery wave as she darts away, her good-natured conversation with Momota as the two of them head for the door, echoing down the hall after them.

B Minor. The key of patience, calmly waiting for fate, destiny, and the submission to providence and karma.

Kiyo’s hands lay flat on the table. Familiar fingers press over his, push them into the table. His knuckles scrape against the bandages, old scars opened and then irritated again. 

_“You don’t understand what it’s like.”_

He did. He does. He understood. 

It doesn’t matter, in the end, the individual target- a class execution would have them all gone, anyway. 

To satiate. To judge. To apologize.

_“Tell me you’re sorry.”_

He’s been sorry all his life. 

He loves her, he loves her, but god, he’ll do anything to make her _shut up_ for a moment.

\--

**MID-SEASON BREAK! TUNE IN NOW! OUR FIRST LIVE ACTION INTERVIEW WITH DANGANRONPA SEASON FIFTY-THREE, FEATURING OUR MOST BLOODTHIRSTY MASTERMIND YET!**

The chat is already rolling in. There’s about three bots trawling through it for actually relevant questions- but you can glance at the screen and still see the numbers raising, the people crying out in excitement over the screen. Keysmash after keysmash. They’re begging for your attention. They love you. 

Everything is going according to plan.

 _omg who who who who who_ _  
_ _I wanna hear their voice_ _  
_ _OMG hot_ _  
_ _How do they always make it look so real?_ _  
_ _I NEED TO KNOW WHO IT IS_  
“It is who it always is,” you reply, scripted, easy, barely a thought to this performance as you spin slowly in yout chair. “Enoshima Juuuuuuuunko!!!!” The faux-accent drips off your tongue, programmed into you as much as any other skill they’ve deigned to bless you with.

No gods, only Danganronpa!

You run through the other standard lines- expressing excitement/dismissing the fans/asking if they’re full of despair to the response of thousands of people cheering/asking what they think of the game so far and mocking the few hecklers that pop up. You tell a guy that he’s a real pathetic fucking son of a bitch with your arms crossed and your tongue out and then you switch to the depressed persona and say you guess _everyone_ is pretty pathetic and the whole time you feel like anyone but yourself. People eagerly discuss how it really does look like Junko’s right there- the same way it always does.

And then the real questions flood in, lit up and saved in different compartments when the bots decide something is actually worth spending time over.

 _Who’s your favorite and why?_ Someone with a pretty icon and a clever username asks. You think for a while.

“Wellllll,” you drawl, resisting the urge to readjust your scrunchies (Junko’s hair would _always_ be perfect), “I guess Akamatsu hasn’t let me down yet! Were you all scared when you thought she was gonna, like, totally drop off in the first arc? Ha! Pretty tragic for an aikido master, right? The despair she’s constantly feeling… it makes me super giddy! The way she tries to smile despite everything… even when her heart is dragging her down.” A pause. “It’ll make it soooo much fun to crush her.” It’s kind of the only answer you can give without giving away _too much._  
There was a season, about- god, ten years back at least, now. At the end of it all, the protagonist turned out to be the mastermind- that was their big reveal. It had received extremely poor reviews; too heavy on the twist, too heavy on the despair. Danganronpa’s all about misery, but generally people like it to end on a (mildly) hopeful note.  
It had been one of the only seasons that ended in a TPK (total participant kill.) The fans never liked those seasons- no stars to fan over after, no more false idols to adore.  
You remember watching it, as someone else, a thousand lifetimes ago. You’d thought it was a terribly unfair ending.  
But part of you, the person you are now, kind of hopes this one goes the same way. (It’s not like you’ll live, anyway- you’re the mastermind. It’d just be better if the others came down with you.)

 _What’s it like being a character in the game?_ “Um, thrilling as all hell! You never know true ecstasy until you’re screaming for your life!” You flick through tabs again- back to your camera feeds, one trained on every student. You like to have someone messing with cards at any point- poker or tricks or tarot or notes or cues. The day is proceeding mostly as expected- everyone playing their roles. (A few exceptions, but nothing to be concerned over. Akamatsu went off-script and you handled that fine.) “And the cast is just so adorable, aren’t they? I just wanna give them all a big kiss before I rip their tongues out!” Pose. Pose. Vogue it. Pose. The chat goes wild and the rave-beat in the background of your little show pulses in intensity.

More questions. _How big was the production budget?_ You don’t actually know the answer to that one- finances aren’t exactly something you’ve had to handle. You mostly just took over for the actual show part. All you know is that it’s big. _Why does Kaito dress that way?_ You don’t know the answer to that either, other than that there’s a possibility those fucking slippers will send your entire game folding around your ears and if that happens you’re just going to kill yourself before anyone else can do it for you. Multiple questions about your little ultimate assassin that you ignore. 

_What’s Maki’s big secret?_ You mime filing your nails. “I have a feeling she won’t be able to keep that hidden much longer.” 

_Are there any executions you’re hoping for?_ You tick them off on those perfect, red-slick fingers. “Iruma, Harukawa, Tojo, Amami…. Really, they’re all so despair-inducing that I’m getting my rocks off just thinking about it!” The chat gets so excited it glitches for a moment and proceeds to lag for the next five minutes. You check the numbers again- you’re hitting record highs.

 _How much do you control?_ _  
_ You smile. Tap your perfect fake nails over the arm of your chair. Wonder why the bots let that one through.  
Decide not to answer it.

 _What was your inspiration for this season?_ “This season, we want you to think bigger than ever! Action vs inaction! How to weigh a human life! Chance. Choice. Think casinos, last chances, desperation. The greater good. What’s worth gambling? Think… what’s the antithesis to despair?” A flick of your wrist and you’re in glasses, pushing them up the bridge of your nose. “And then watch that hope get crushed.” 

_Can you give us a clue to your identity?_ Ha. Part of you considers ripping the wig off right now, peeling the tape back from your face. What would they say? What would even happen, then?  
They kill you off and put someone else in charge, probably. Understandably so.  
Instead you fold your hands under your chin and lean in to wink. “Awwww, you don’t recognize me? You’re all so…. Disgusting. You make me sick.” People clamor at you to humiliate them further. You extend one long leg, skirt riding up just a _little_ too high as you readjust, pointing a heel at the camera. “Lick it up, you pathetic wretches. It’s the best people like you are going to get.” They love you so much. You remember the rush, the first time they shoved those memories in your head. A part of you _is_ Junko now, you think. (No one’s mastered method acting like Danganronpa.) Getting into character is easy. Getting out is a drag. This, here, them slurping at your boots through their screens and begging you to peg them (as if they know what you’re working with), you calling them stains on the earth, telling them to choke on their own puke and die, insulting their mothers- this is realer than whatever character stands out in that school and hides their cards up their sleeve. This isn’t a hint to your identity. This is all that’s left of it.

_God, Enoshima. Don’t make it sound so depressing. Isn’t there more of you now, really?_

Larger than life, babe! This world was built for you and you’re going to dazzle in it as long as you can force them to look at you.

 _What are your favorite fan-theories?_ “Hmm….” You let your legs fall open as you swing back, and you can practically _feel_ the screenshots. Ha. As if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. “I like the one about H1M1 coming back again. It’s not going to happen, obviously, but I think it’s cute how dedicated her fans are.” You considered it. The robot- _technically_ a cyborg, really, but far more machine than human- does have backup scripting, after all. You could load her character onto any of your spare monopads- and you’re tempted, you really are. Akamatsu would go insane. The show would instantly increase in tension. And maybe you could...  
It just feels kind of trite. You can’t rely too much on cheap tricks this season.

More questions- many, many about your identity, the usual fare about how the show works- fans begging for a little more realism, the deets that make it so _juicy._ You know why Danganronpa likes its mastermind interviews? It’s not for publicity.

It’s to remind the audience that it’s real in a way nothing else is. 

_Is everything still going to plan?_

_…_

Of course it is.

Sure, there might be… Akamatsu might be kind of off-script, some of the other characters might be behaving weird, but… there’s always kinks. And you’ve got it under control. The first trial might not have been exactly what you planned, but the outcome was the same.

Everyone will play along.

\--

“I’m going to shave off that goatee,” Kaede grumbles as she pushes the door to the dorms open. Behind her, Kaito squawks, stopping abruptly and almost getting hit in the face with the door before she catches it again.

It’s evening, now- the whole day’s been the same busy flurry as yesterday, everyone scurrying around to find the missing motives. No one’s made any progress- at least, no one’s _reported_ any progress, but Shirogane had given Kaede a reassuring smile and whispered that she thought they were onto something when she asked about it after dinner. She likes to help out with the dishes- even if Shirogane insists she’s happy on her own, it seems unfair to expect her to clean up after them all the time. And even though the maid can be a bit pushy about how it gets done, and if it usually ends with Kaede standing off to the side and watching Shirogane wash everything perfectly, she seems glad of the company.  
(And if she’s willing to gossip a little about their companions over a glass of cooking wine, Kaede isn’t complaining. Shirogane works far too hard.)

Back to the present- late evening, and most people still seem to be out and about searching for their videos. She hasn’t seen Harukawa since brunch, really, and Amami and Tojo and Hoshi have all been so busy that it’s been hard to feel like talking to them. Gonta’s been helping them, too. 

_“Gonta has very good eyesight,”_ he’d told her when she met with him in one of the overgrown hallways, his smile all soft. _“It’s why Gonta is able to create things that people like. Because Gonta sees them clearly.”_ His brow furrows. _“Angie says that there are no bugs here, but Gonta thinks Gonta’s sees those, too… but it might just be the light. People in high society…”_ Those words, reverent and hesitant all at once, something nervous crossing his face; like Kaede might laugh at him for speaking his mind. _“Sometimes they forget how to see the way the light works.”_

Kaito, at the time, had shifted in a way that made it clear he had no idea what Gonta was talking about, but Kaede thought she understood, at least a little. His company’s been a comfort all day- they spent most of it in his lab, but crossed in and out to check on the search, staring down the railings- and then across the second floor, over to the corner that blocked out Ouma’s lab. 

“What?” The tennis player yelps, hurrying in after her and sounding so affronted that she has to hide a smile. “No way! This is a symbol of manhood, Kaede!”

“It’s a symbol that your mother wasn’t strict enough with you growing up,” she replies. Kaito looks briefly offended and opens his mouth, but before he can speak, someone interrupts.

“If you’re going to fix anything about him, can you please burn that goddamn fucking jacket?” They bark.  
Kaede looks over and finds Iruma, storming out of her room and slamming the door behind her. Instead of leaving, like someone normally might, she marches over to the two of them and jabs a finger at a hurt-looking Kaito. “I’ve got a hangover and it murders my eyes enough as it is.”

Iruma’s appearance changes frequently from day to day- more so than everyone else, Kaede would say. She still appears in her normal uniform- corset, puffy skirt, choker- but little details about it change in a way that took her a while to notice. Swapping the arrangements of her bracelets. Stitching new little designs into the lace of her skirt.

She’d been a little late for breakfast today, and had stormed in muttering about how it took time to look that good as Shirogane quietly berated her, and at the time Kaede had been too distracted to notice more than that her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail and that she looked oddly sweet out of her usually bold makeup.

Now, though, she’s had time to apply it, and make a few other little changes. Notably, her earrings- paired with the glowstick bands on her arms, she’s got a pair of little LED lightbulbs dangling from her ears, flashing every few seconds in time with the beads scattered in her hair- more little lights, pulsing in different colors. It’s both casual and intricate- street fashion, Kaede supposes, beating like rave lights. 

Kaito gestures at them defensively, spluttering. “At least they’re not literally glowing! My jacket is stylish and manly. It helps me stand out in a crowd, so everyone knows the hero of the tennis world is near!”

Above them, Shirogane opens her door and exits, circling down the stairs. “It’s the slip-on slippers for me,” she mutters quietly, leaving them with little other comment.

Simultaneously, Iruma and Kaede turn and pointedly stare at Kaito’s slippers. His feet shuffle awkwardly.

“Kaito,” Kaede says. “You’re a professional sports player.”

“And you should see people’s faces when they lose to a guy in hos- house slippers!” He puffs his chest out triumphantly, and he’s so proud that it’s hard to criticize him any further. (Even if his dress sense _is_ particularly atrocious.)

She laughs, gently bumping him with her elbow. “Okay, okay. Doesn’t the tennis champion of the world need to go and shower?” 

“Oh, shit!” Kaito thumps his palm against his forehead and then grins when she giggles, one sleeve of his jacket swinging with the motion. “Thanks for reminding me, Kaede! Where would I be without my sidekick?”

“Stinky and dehydrated,” she tells him, and chews up the laugh she earns in response like strawberry bubblegum.

He waves as he goes, gives her a toothy grin, then disappears into his room. A few more students come and go, adjusting to the flashback light’s new information, preparing for the day ahead. Kaede watches them all fondly- and then watches Iruma watching her.

Iruma looks away, quickly, and a smile tugs at Kaede’s face despite everything. “How are you doing, Iruma-san? It’s a lot to process, with the flashback light, right?”

“Tch.” The cosplayer plants her hands on her hips, gaze angled sideways. “It’s nothing major. Nothing someone like me can’t handle.”

“Still,” Kaede says, because she’s not in the mood to argue that point. “It’s kind of.. Scary, right? Knowing that- so many people wanted to hunt us down.” She rubs her arm without thinking, letting her own touch calm her nerves a little. She’s unsettled. She’s particularly unsettled in the way it feels like there’s _more_ missing- a timeline that starts with her going into hiding and ends with her walking through her home town and getting shoved into a van, and between those two events, there’s nothing. 

Iruma laughs in response, adjusting one of the little heart-clips in her hair, the sound a little high and shaky despite its volume. “Someone as gorgeous as me is used to receiving lot of fuckin’ attention, babe,” she says, tilting her chin up. “I’m taking over the whole world with my good looks and genius personality- but it’s not like the lack of praise is getting to me, or anything!” Suddenly she crumples inward, clutching around the collar of her own outfit, shiny makeup all scrunched up. “I- I don’t need any of it. It’s just something someone like me expects to hear. It’s what I fucking deserve!”

“Well, Iruma-san,” Kaede tells her, gently. “I think you look really nice today.”

Iruma wobbles at the praise, like all her bones turned into jelly at the barest sign of a compliment. But then she draws herself up again and pulls back, face scrunching up. “H-hey, I didn’t mean anything like I was- like I was going bonkers without it, I just, heh-” She physically backs up from Kaede, only losing her tension when there was actual distance between them. (As if it really mattered against a martial artist. As if Iruma wasn’t terrifyingly vulnerable, as if Kaede didn’t know every way to snap her neck before she could summon the breath to scream-)

 _Iruma,_ Kaede thinks forcefully instead, _probably gets a lot of creeps commenting on her looks._ She mulls this over for another moment, and then brings up the smile again, hoping it helps. “And, I think it’s really cool how much thought you put into your outfits. And the skill used to make them! I really love how you’ve fixed the lights up to glow.”

“They’re just battery-powered,” Iruma mumbles, twiddling with the ends of a strand of hair. “The monostore sells really small ones, and it's not like I have much to work with, so I figured I’d take advantage of it. Ha! Good thing they’re paying me to be in this shithole.”

It’s not real money, but Kaede doesn’t point that out. “Well, I know I couldn’t do anything like that. And nothing like what you have in your hair, either! You’re really skilled. It must take a lot of time.”

Iruma pulls harder at her own hair, rapidly turning redder. “I’ve just… always been good at visualizing things,” she mumbles. “Puttin’ stuff together’s not that hard for a genius like me.”

She’s kind of endearing when she’s shy, although Kaede would rather eat rocks than tell her that. Fortunately, she’s saved from either getting frustrated with her or saying something a little too kind by a cheerful call over her shoulder.

“Yoo-hoo!”

Kaede turns to find Angie waving as she walks up, seeming delighted to see them. She hasn’t really had much to do with Angie- who tends to spend most of her time in her lab, sitting cross-legged on the floor and communing with god while ladybugs crawl up her bare arms, but she knows both Chabashira and Iruma are fond of her- at least, she thinks. It's hard to tell with those two. Out of her lab, though, she’s back in her usual coat, slipping over the edges of her fingers as she walks over and tucks her arms behind her back, rocking onto her toes.  
“What are you two girls up to?” She asks, so overly-casual, as if they’ve all been friends for a million years. Angie is nice to everyone, even if she comes on… a little strong. Even if she’d introduced herself by telling Kaede her hair looked like silk and then asked if she would consider becoming a silkworm bride.  
(Kaede had refused without asking for further details.)

“Oh great, it’s the cult freak,” Iruma grumbles, fixing her hands on her hips. “Come for Bakamatsu’s blood, huh? Well sorry to tell you, but _this_ genius cosplayer isn’t a virgin! You’ll have to get your fix elsewhere.”

“Eh?” Angie tilts her head to the side, confused. “Miu, you don’t have to be a virgin! Normal blood works fine, too!”

 _“Okay!”_ Kaede says loudly. “Angie! How have you been? Have you found your motive video?”

The entomologist laughs, her pigtails shaking like silvery thread. “Oh, Kaede, I haven’t been looking for that! It’s God’s will, you know. If it’s found, it’s found. If it isn’t, it isn’t.” She tilts her whole body sideways, still curious. “Aren’t Rantaro and Kirumi and Tsumugi looking, anyway? That’s what Tsumugi said when I popped in to get some sugar water! She said she had just finished looking through the kitchen again.”

“Tch,” Iruma says. “I don’t trust that freak with the videos any more than than shota bitch. She gives me the heebie-jeebies with how she stares at me.”

Kaede frowns at her. “Shirogane-san is really nice,” she says, crossing her arms. “She’s good at sewing, too- she fixes any torn stitches in the laundry. You’d probably get along, if you spoke to her!”

“I don’t talk to fuckin’ live-in-submissives! That maid thing has _gotta_ be some kind of fetish, I mean- you see how she dresses, right?”

“What, sexy?” Kaede says, without thinking. She immediately wishes she hadn’t.  
(...Iruma kind of has a point, though. Shirogane’s outfit is far more ‘cute’ than practical- Kaede has no idea how she keeps her apron so spotless, especially with how often she seems to drift into daydreams while she works.)

“Nya-haha!” Angie throws her hands up as she giggles, and then tucks them back against her chest, bunching up the fabric of her coat against her palms. “Tsumugi would make anything she wore sexy!”

“Like you, Angie?” Kaede asks, biting back a smile. Angie doesn’t even blush, just laughs again and reaches over to squeeze her arm.

Iruma looks away again, rolling her eyes. “You two mega-freaks have no taste. Shirogane’s got nothing. Her tits aren’t even that big.”

“No, Miu’s are definitely much plumper!” Angie replies, clasping her hands together. “You really are suited to be a model, Miu! Your figure would be very admired on my island, mhm!”

And, surprisingly- Iruma turns red and shrinks back, spluttering. Kaede resists an eye roll. “Hh- you- wh- well-” She recovers after a moment, flicking her hair back and giving a laugh that only warbles a little. "Your island might have some good taste after all, if they can recognize the beauty of a body like mine. They better recognize my mind, too, though- these curves aren't just for show."

The conversation dissolves predictably from there- Angie and Iruma prodding at each other, Kaede cutting in occasionally before it can dissolve into an argument. The carpet on the floor of the dorms sinks against her sandals in a comfortable kind of way as they chat, exchanging half-compliments and half argumentation, Angie seeming almost suspiciously oblivious to any kind of attempted bickering directed her way. Kaede pokes her bare stomach at one point and she dissolves into laughter, trying to catch her hands and hold them tight, and then Iruma pulls both their pigtails at once and for a moment, they all laugh together.  
Iruma leaves first, waving goodbye as she heads out to go and gamble despite Kaede's admonishments, and Angie heads to her bedroom with a yawn soon after, waving a cheerful goodbye and planting a kiss on Kaede's cheek as she does.

Kaede waits in the foyer for a little longer, rocking back and forth on her feet. It's not unusual for Kaito to take his time getting ready for training- he always comes out smelling extremely strongly of mouthwash and cologne, looking a little weary if they're out too late- and they've been busy today. She makes a note to check in with him later. 

It's as she's waiting that she's approached by another pair- this time, entering together.

Tojo and Amami look exhausted, the politician's neat hair starting to frizz a little at the end of her perfect fringe, the veil on her hat slipping down- and Amami's cloak seems to be drooping as much as his face. Despite this, they both smile when they see her, and she can't help but smile back, bouncing away from the wall.   
"Are you two finally getting some rest?" She asks, and then tilts her head. "Did you make any progress?"

"Ah, that's actually what we want to talk about," Tojo says, elegantly folding her hands in front of her- as poised as ever. "You're just the person we were hoping to find, Akamatsu-san. I'm glad we aren't disturbing you from your sleep."

"It's too early to sleep," Kaede laughs, pumping her fists. "Kaito's working me hard!"

Amami smiles, fondly. "Put her in, coach," he teases, and then sobers a little, glancing to his companion. Tojo nods once, and he looks back, smiling almost sheepishly. "Akamatsu, would it be okay if we asked for a favor?"

"A favor?" She blinks for half a second, and then- "Sure! Anything!" 

"Even if it cuts into your training?" Amami asks, rubbing the back of his neck. "I feel bad about the timing, but we got caught up..."

Kaede smiles to herself, balancing an elbow on the arm wrapped around herself as she settles. "We can always leave it for later tonight, or I can work extra hard tomorrow... And Kaito's been eager to help out all day. I think I can spare a bit of time..."

It occurs to her, perhaps a little too late, that they might be asking her to join the search for the motive videos- and that if they do, she doesn't know how to decline. She doesn't really have a good reason for declining, just a scratchy sort of aching sense that the whole thing isn't safe.   
(A sense she's doing her best to ignore, because it's irrational and only even present because she feels guilty about everything she's done. She needs to stop projecting.)

And it doesn't matter anyway, because Tojo doesn't ask for her to help with the search.

Tojo asks "Do you think you could see if you could get anything out of Ouma-kun?"

She and Amami explain their plan in simple detail- The search has gone absolutely nowhere so far, and they're starting to think that all the videos are simply hidden away in Ouma's lab, after all. They want Kaede- and Kaito, if he's willing, which she's pretty sure he will be - to distract him for an hour or so, just keep him entertained, to give them a chance to investigate it. And while she's talking with him, if she could figure out a little more about his motives, see if there's a way to minimize the inherent threat he poses... That would be helpful, too. 

Kaede thinks it over for a few moments- on one hand, Ouma Kokichi is dangerous and unpredictable and has already established that he has little care for any of them.   
On the other, she thinks if she doesn't agree, one of them will try to distract Ouma themselves, and the second Kaede considers either of them putting themselves in danger because she didn't agree to help, the decision is made.

Both of them thank her, and pass on Shirogane's thanks as well, and make such a big deal about it that she gets a little flustered. Amami stresses that she keeps herself safe, and she reminds him of her aikido training as if it means anything anymore, and after apologizing for putting her in this position, they both leave again, already knocking heads to murmur about... the search, presumably.

“Alright, ready for some training?”

A few minutes later, Kaito calls out, hurrying from his bedroom- hideous jacket off one shoulder and waterbottles in both hands. Kaede turns to him with a smile.

“Actually, I know you’ve been wanting to help Tojo and Amami-kun out, so…” She explains the plan, a little hesitant; but of course he jumps right into it, eyes blazing with passion.

“Leave it to us!” He tells her. “The hero and his sidekick- we’ll march right up to that assassin and we’ll _make_ him fess up!”

Kaede smiles despite herself, shaking her head. “I was going to aim for a more diplomatic approach, Kaito.”

“Still practicing all that aikido philosophy?” He asks, and she freezes for a minute- but then he’s stepping forward, gaze set. “Good. Don’t lose that spark of yours, okay? We’ll need it… ‘specially if you expect me to keep my temper around that brat.”

“I’ll help you,” she promises in turn, shouldering her bag a little higher. “We’ve got to be careful, but… we can help out without interfering with the videos, this way.”

Steeling her nerves, Kaede smiles up at Kaito as they leave the dorms. They’ve got each other- Ouma might be an assassin, but Kaede has years of martial training and Kaito is… the hero. 

Besides, how hard can it be? 

\--

“Oh, fuck,” Kaito hisses, like he’s trying to whisper but can’t quite manage it, hands curling around Kaede’s arm. “What’s _he_ doing here?”

Kaede has the same question. As far as she knows, everyone’s been giving the assassin lab a wide berth- certainly not sitting outside it on the floor, leaning back against the door with a book in their lap. Certainly not ignoring said book in favor of staring up at the assassin with an unreadable expression on their mostly-covered face.

“...but I really don’t think that’s true, Ouma-kun. That sounds more like something out of _Dragon Age_ than anything real,” Saihara Shuichi says, like they’re chatting over tea. His chipped black nails folded over the cover of his book, his dim eyes, his mask barely even moving when he speaks. Kaede can’t tell if she’s envious or bitter or just _confused,_ but all she can decipher is that watching Saihara speak to the assassin in a quiet, calm tone, like he’s more worried about offending him than he is about getting murdered… makes her very, very afraid.  
(What are you doing, Saihara? Can’t you tell it’s dangerous?)

“Eh? But it’s true!” Ouma swings from the banister, elbows hooked through the bars. “My code name is the thief of hearts. It’s a pun, you see, because I seduce all my targets before I rip open their ribcages!”

“I’m fairly confident you would use multiple methods to kill. As the ultimate assassin.”

“Can’t a guy have a shtick?” Ouma pouts. “We all have themes! I steal hearts and… other organs, and my friend Spades kills with a shovel, and my other friend Nuclear Explosion….. Well, you can probably guess what his deal is.” He snickers to himself, the sound shaking in the cool air. Up here, it feels dark and damp. The whole school is rotten to a core- maybe it just really _feels_ like it, here. 

“...That doesn’t exactly seem ideal for a covert assassination,” Saihara says, slowly. There’s an odd tinge to his voice, like… like he’s giving one of his awkward smiles. 

Kaede can’t tell if she’s jealous or if she just _really_ doesn’t trust Ouma. 

Fortunately, Kaito is right there, her emotional savior. He gestures Kaede behind the corner of the hall with an almost comical urgency, and then drops into a squat. She mimics him with mild bemusement, concern for Saihara momentarily forgotten. 

“Right,” he says, whispering in a way that is more a slightly-lower voice just directed right into Kaede’s ear. “We need a plan to separate them.”

She nods, staring up at him. He stares back, expectantly.

 _Oh._ Kaede resists the urge to roll her eyes- but hey, she’ll help out as his sidekick however she can. (Part of her momentarily thinks of how the three of them would have made a great team. If Saihara were-)

She suppresses the guilt in a way she _knows_ isn’t healthy and rests her hands on her knees, ready to spring up.

"Okay," she says. "Ouma leaves his lab to go to breakfast and dinner with us. Saihara goes sometimes, too. And Ouma-kun likes games, so…" She inhales, feels the pulse spreading through her chest. Something tastes of danger, the moment just after you realize you've been grabbed and just before you're thrown. "I think I can probably convince him to talk to me."

"And what about Saihara?" Kaito demands, a little too brash. She hushes him again, hand on his arm. 

"You talk to him. I think he likes you." It seems like an age ago, when she and Saihara met with Kaito and walked to the school gym together. 

Kaito pulls a face, seeming a little disquieted. “I dunno. He’s been avoiding me since the trial. Every time we make eye contact, he looks away.”

“I think he’s like that with everyone,” Kaede murmurs, and she thinks about what Saihara told her, about how he can’t stand it when people watch him speak. About his expression in that trial, holding her eyes across the courtroom, some thread between them pulled taut and painful.  
She still cares about him _so much._ She knows he- he’s angry with her. He must be. She can’t blame him, either; not when she hates herself just as much as he does. (Part of her thinks _at least we have that in common,_ and it’s disturbing that the thought reassures her.) 

She’s so consumed by her own thoughts that she almost misses Kaito’s movements. Not quite, though- still hyperaware, even if her connection to her surroundings has turned anxious and fitful. Kaito’s hand lands on her shoulder and squeezes, his eyes far too serious. 

“Kaede,” he says. “I’ll go talk to Saihara now, get him to see reason. But later on… after we’ve sorted all this out and figured out what to do with those motive videos? You two have gotta talk, okay? You can’t keep beating yourself up like this.” His brow creases for a moment. “I’ll tell him to stop being such a coward and- and to man up and talk to you. And hey, maybe he can come back to training with us after we sort all this motive business out!”

“You just don’t want to deal with Ouma.” She responds, teasing to cover up her own relief. “You… don’t have to do that, Kaito.” It’s Kaede’s fault she and Saihara are so awkward. She closes her eyes. “You can invite him to training, if you want, but… this is something I need to do myself.” 

Kaito looks at her for a moment, as if making up his mind, and then breaks into a smile, firmly taking her by the shoulder. “Alright,” he decides. “But you have to promise to talk to him tonight, okay? I’ll give you two some space, in case it gets personal.” He winks.

Kaede flushes and stands up, brushing down the ruffles of her skirt. “You’re crazy if you think he'd like me,” she mutters- she’ll be lucky if he can even tolerate her, let alone trust her ever again.

But- they were friends. And maybe they can... work together again, at least. (She remembers his eyes shining with hope after she'd told everyone they would escape together. She remembers his eyes clouded and distant during the trial.)

Before she can lose her nerve, she rounds the corner, bag swinging at her side, Kaito yelping and stumbling after her heels. “Ouma!”

Both people at the end of the hallway glance up- one poised, one flustered, dropping the book in his arms over the floor. The other jumps down from where he was perched (stupidly and dangerously) over the banister and gives a dramatic bow, one foor sweeping behind him as he lifts an imaginary cape. 

"Akamatsu-chan," the ultimate assassin purrs. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Or are you actually after my fellow associate?" He gestures over to Saihara dramatically, who is now clutching at his book like he might be able to hide behind it if he tenses enough. 

"No, I want to talk to you," she lies, as if both them aren't different kinds of terrifying. "Um. Are you busy?"

“It’s… past curfew?” Saihara says, tilting his head. As if he isn’t out past curfew, too. Everyone’s out past curfew, today. 

“Well, um… everyone’s awake anyway, looking for the motive videos! And it's not against the rules as long as we don't go into the pool, so...” Kaede responds, and then quickly backtracks. “So, I figured… I was kind of curious about you, Ouma. And I know you like games? I’ve got a pack of cards from the store, so…” 

Ouma stares at her for a moment. Kaede stares back, her own breath feeling caught somewhere between them. 

Then he bounces up, hands clasped together. “Okay! I’d love to go hang out with Akamatsu-chan! She’s one of my favorites here, you know?”

“Ah… she is?” Kaede asks, leaning back a little just out of instinct. Not enough to get out of arm's reach- not enough to move where she couldn't catch him before he caught her. Kaede has more wingspan, longer legs, more muscle. Ouma is fast. Ouma is good at misdirection. 

Ouma is nodding at her, overeager. "Uh-huh! And I'm not busy at all, am I, Saihara-chan? All we're doing is sitting around and talking about your dumb book."

Saihara twitches, like the very fact he's being addressed has caught him off guard. He tugs at his mask. "Ah, um. Yeah. We're just... it's not dumb?"

"What _ever."_ Ouma rolls his eyes- and then, very suddenly, an arm is winding between Kaede's body and her own, and she's off center as the assassin is curling up to her side like a cat, tugging her elbow against his chest and squeezing it close. She blinks down at him, and he blinks back up, all teeth. The white moon hangs upside-down on his face. "I'm bored of you. I'd much rather go hang out with Akamatsu-chan. She's way more popular than you, anyway."

Kaede glances back to Saihara a little helplessly, who is watching this display like he is completely and utterly out of his depth. 

Thank god for Kaito- swooping in to clap a hand on the anthropologist's shoulder and make him visibly jump. "Who cares about being popular? All that matters is being true to yourself- right, Saihara?"

"Ah... right," Saihara mumbles, ducking away from the gesture. Kaito tugs him in closer in response. "H-have fun."

Ouma pulls like he's mimicking Kaito, dragging Kaede away from the lab himself. She looks back to it- that door with its many locks, with its many secrets. She's sure Kaito will be able to get Saihara away, too. She's sure they'll get inside- and that they'll find the videos there.   
(If she's not sure of herself, she might as well be sure of her friends. Her heart keeps beating like a hammer on nails, on the xylophone of her ribs. She wonders if Ouma can hear it, standing so close.)

If he can, he doesn't answer it- just glances over his shoulder like they're sharing a secret. Kaede offers suggestions for things they could do- asks if he wants to see her lab, or play a game in the game room, and although he seems somewhat tempted by skipping, he clearly has other ideas, frog-marching her off toward the dining hall.

"All the members of my assassin's guild have tea parties every Friday," he explains cheerfully. "I was just starting to get kind of lonely, too! You really came at the right time, you know. This will remind me of home!" 

"...Your home in an assassin's guild?" Kaede doesn't point out that they have no way of knowing what day of the week it is, whether it's Friday or not. She doubts he cares.

Ouma sits her down at the dining table, moonlight streaming through the windows and lighting the school in awful, unnatural hues even after Kaede switches the lights on. He makes them both tea, and refuses to accept any help in the process. Somehow, he's meticulous about it- fumbling in the kitchens for just long enough to make Kaede paranoid, and then returning with armfuls of tea leaves and spices. He puts honey in her mug before asking if she wants it (she does, but it's still presumptive), puts twice the amount in his own, and doesn't ask for her opinion before opening two boxes and mixing haphazard amounts of both mango and strawberry tea right in the pot. He mixes spices (vanilla and ginger and saffron) directly in the mugs, and Kaede has to watch the entire time without breathing, waiting every second to see some mysterious vial slip from his sleeve or for the tea to come out bright green and bubbling like acid.

He pours them both a mugful and mixes hers for her. He leaves the spoon in his cup.

“So, um.” Kaede pauses, but accepts the cup of tea and wraps her fingers around it. Ouma smiles encouragingly, and slowly, despite every bone in her body telling her it’s a bad idea, she takes a sip. She’s almost expecting him to jump up- _got you! Akamatsu-chan’s such an idiot to trust someone like me. One single sip and you’re as good as dead!_ \- but he only smiles wider, mimicking her by drinking from his own. Somehow, that’s almost worse. “Ouma-kun, I don’t really know much about you!”

They haven’t exactly spoken, outside of trials and the times the group gathers together and Ouma _has_ to have his say. She’s almost unsettled by what good company he’s been- making them tea and (presumably) _not_ poisoning it, giving her first pick of the biscuits. 

The tea is pretty good. Really good, actually, if just a little too sweet. It's just kind of hard to swallow, that's all.

“Oh,” Ouma sighs, setting his mug down and his chin in his hands. “It’s a very boring story, you know. My mother worked as a prostitute, you see, and one day she goes and gets knocked up by this bald politician- and she has this kid, so she’s gotta work twice as hard to support me! And she ends up dead when I’m a kid, because that’s what happens to people like that, y’know.” His brow furrows for a moment. “She used to send me to the bathhouse when she had men over…. I’ve spent my whole life hating my dad, waiting for revenge. The assassin thing’s just to earn his trust, you know? Once I’ve gathered enough proof- _bam!_ I blow the whistle and his whole high-class politics operation comes tumbling down, right before I kill him myself.”

“I-I’m so sorry,” Kaede stammers, her face turning red. She- she’s never really had to think much about. Prostitutes, and the like. Beyond a few off-color comments from Miu and the general awareness that comes from having an internet connection (thank you, ultimate hunt), it’s… another world to her. But she supposes it makes sense, in a way… sex workers and assassins are both illegal trades, right? “That… must be so much to process. I’m so sorry.” _And that kind of messed up childhood would explain a lot..._

Ouma stares at her for a moment before he bursts into snickers, laughing so hard his head falls back and he has to clutch his stomach. Kaede stares at him in mild horror as he wipes fake tears from his eyes, propping himself against the table like he’s falling apart.  
“Oh man,” he wheezes. “I can’t believe you believed any of that. Akamatsu-chan really is as stupid and naive as I thought!”

“Wh- it was a lie?” She turns even redder, inflamed with anger, this time. “Ouma, that’s not funny!”

“Of course it was a lie!” He replies, grinning over at her as he squirms in his seat. “What a dumb way to get revenge. You’d need superpowers to pull it off.”

“You’re so childish,” Kaede huffs, crossing her arms.

He responds to that by demanding she pour him another cup of tea, because his current one is cold. Kaede refuses (there's no way it's cold yet), and he promptly bursts into tears. The conversation continues down this path for quite some time- and every time she comes close to standing up and calmly walking away and _not_ throwing her mug in his face, he somehow finds a way to drop in some reminder that she shouldn't leave him alone. Kaede barely touches her tea- but he finishes mug after mug and reminds her to drink her own if she leaves it for too long.

“Hey, Akamatsu-chan!” Ouma chirps, suddenly halfway across the table and staring right into Kaede’s eyes. She jumps back instinctively, both hands raising just in case she needs to grab one of his wrists. It’s impossible to relax around him. She needs to stop forgetting that. “Wanna go do something more exciting than this?”

Kaede leans back. He leans forward. She ends up tipping back on the legs of her chair to put some space between them, as he stretches across the table and grins like he knows something she doesn’t. “Like what?”

“Liiiiiike…..” Ouma lifts a finger to his lips, and suddenly those too-wide, too-innocent eyes flicker like someone’s pulled the shutters down. “Like we go and make sure the little detective squad aren’t doing anything suspicious while they search for my videos.”

Kaede’s heart murmurs. Ouma’s eyes flick over her face and his smile widens. 

He probably likes that she’s afraid. 

“What do you mean?” Kaede asks, her voice a little low. A little stuck in her throat.

Ouma stands up suddenly with a loud whine, falling back into his own chair and draping an arm over his face. “Akamatsu-chan is _such_ a bad liar,” he complains. “It’s embarrassing! How are you going to make a master liar like me associate with someone like you? I can’t believe you thought I wanted to have tea with you. You’re lucky I’m out of poison, you know. That’s why I just put laxatives in your tea.”

“Did you-” Kaede stares at him. He pouts back at her, tears beading in his eyes. “You’re lying.”

Ouma sniffs derisively, crossing his arms. “I guess you’ll have to find out in a couple hours when you’re on the toilet, _liar.”_

“You are disgusting,” she huffs at him, standing up. Screw this! Screw him. They can find a different way to get into his lab. Kaede doesn’t have time to sit around playing mind games with someone who _murders_ for a living. 

“Aw, come on, don’t be so sensitive!” He snickers into the curve of his palm, kicking his legs out in front of him. “Besides, it’s not like you’re any better than me. We’re both killers, Akamatsu-chan. We should bond over it!”

“I-” Kaede’s voice catches. Something deep in her _aches._ “I didn’t mean to…”

“Sure you did.” The smile drops from Ouma’s face. “You knew someone would die. Even if our H1M1-dere was the one who dealt the blow, it wasn’t like you were going to use your hands anyway. It’s the same end result you set out to get, and you put the events in motion.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Kaede snaps. Her whole face is hot. When did her fists clench up? “But- that doesn’t make us the same, Ouma. We _aren’t_ the same. Don’t try to pretend I’m anything like you.” 

Ouma watches her with a blank expression for a few moments. Then he breaks into a wide smile. “Aww, I’m just messing with you! Akamatsu-chan is actually one of my favorites, you know. She’s super not-boring at all!! Even if she’s a dirty killer like me, all her intentions are admirable. I kind of wish she’d actually got the ringleader, and we’d all been able to escape! Then maybe you wouldn’t look so sad all the time. I think maybe she should stop trying to save everyone all the time, especially since they don't want to get saved." He frowns once again, then sticks his fingers in his cheeks, one at a time. Kaede watches with almost morbid fascination as he pushes his own mouth up into a smile, that drawn-on teardrop glinting under his right eye. “But I guess this is more interesting.”

“We will escape,” she tells him. “If- if you really want to, you should help us with the motive videos. If we can all watch them together, then maybe we’ll be able to… figure something out. At least we won’t all have to be so suspicious of each other all the time.”

Ouma looks at her with almost childlike curiosity- like she’s proposed a concept he’s never considered before, asked his opinion on a topic that interests him. “Do you really think so?” He asks. “Not everyone has such kitschy videos as you, Akamatsu-chan. Do you really think anyone would be comforted by watching…. Let’s say… _mine?”_

The points hit her like bullets. Kaede shrinks back, flexing and unflexing her fingers around the table. “I… you watched my video?”  
It’s better than asking what’s in his. She isn’t sure she wants to know what Ouma’s most important people look like. (Maybe he’s like Hoshi. Maybe he doesn’t have anybody at all.)  
For a moment, she feels a little… sympathetic. It’s easy to view Ouma as a threat- to put herself in _uke,_ defensive position, as he tries to keep her off her balance. But if she puts everything else aside, he’s a kid like her, right? With his face painted and badges pinned to his scarf, looking at her with wide eyes- he looks even younger than her, really.

But then those wide eyes crease, foxlike, and he raises the knife on the table to his lips, smiles from behind the glinting edge of it. “Of course,” he says. “It was pretty boring, really. Your most important person is someone you haven’t spoken to in years? I bet that hurts your auntie’s feelings.”

Another hot flash of anger- but the thought of her mother’s face makes it simmer back. She inhales, lets it swell with her stomach, and then releases it. 

Ouma can do what he wants, but he won’t get the better of her. “I don’t mind if people see my video,” Kaede says, and it comes out a little shorter than she would like, but she manages to smile anyway. “I don’t have anything to hide, Ouma-kun. And… I don’t really think you do, either. I mean, we all already know you’re an assassin. And a liar. I don’t think anyone is going to trust you any less.”

The smile drops behind his knife, but his eyes glitter. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. 

“You really aren’t boring at all, Akamatsu-chan,” Ouma says.

“...Thank you?”

He stands up, shoving his chair back and leaving it there, out of place in the neat dining hall. The knife disappears up his sleeve as he stretches, then folds his arms behind his head, yawning. “So have you distracted me for long enough or do you have nothing better to do than to follow our little government group?”

“W-” The accusation makes her face flush, even if it’s true. “I- I just wanted to hang out with you!”

Ouma snickers. “You’re a terrible liar,” he says, but he doesn’t sound offended. "Come on. They're probably back by now."

And, wordlessly, Kaede stands up when he holds out a hand, and when he heads for the door, she follows. 

Tea still unfinished.

\--

Kaede spends the entire walk back to the Ultimate Assassin's Talent Lab overthinking- what is Ouma talking about, how did he know the plan, why did he go along with it in the first place? The assassin doesn't offer any help- only the occasional glance over his shoulder, arms folded behind his head, all with the same, almost-pleasant smile. Like he's glad to see she's still behind him.  
(Isn't he afraid, having his back turned to her?)

The halls of the school are lit worse than usual in the light. Everything feels sickeningly red, equally colorless- The lighting from the ever-buzzing monitors hums like a headache. Every footstep feels too heavy. 

Kaede's mouth tastes like strawberry-mango tea, dried out and turned to rust. Ouma's boots click every time he takes a step- until they move up the first step of stairs and she tries to figure out what has her feeling so unsettled; and then realizes that it's because she can't hear him making any sound at all anymore.  
He's probably doing it on purpose, to prove some kind of point. She holds tight to her satchel as they walk, up and then down the long hallways and then through the newly-opened areas in the school. 

Ouma stops abruptly, as they're coming past Kaito's lab, over and toward his own. "Told you," he says, cheerfully. "They're back."

She focuses in for a moment- without the sound of his footsteps, the quiet of the school felt like static- hard to distinguish, hard to gauge. Is it really that silent or is she just losing her mind? (She can't hear her own breath. She doesn't know if she could even describe what breathing feels like anymore. _Kokyu-ho movements are designed to help co-ordinate aiki movement with breathing. The emphasis here is on the co-ordination of movement with breathing, not on the technique or throw. This is simply because once one has as the objective a technique, everything else is often forgotten. By having no technique, one can concentrate on the essential task at hand - co-ordination._  
But she doesn't know what it feels like.)

Still; after the few moments it takes to push through the roaring silence, she picks out a sound- and then another- voices. Clamoring. _Arguing._

"Yup," Ouma says, again. "I figured it'd be about now."

He's as relaxed as always, but Kaede is already pushing past him, her sandals hitting the ground hard every time she takes a step, her heart pounding as she rounds the corner.

She picks out snippets of argument as she rounds the corner, eyes meeting the cast in full all at once. _"Where's your video?" -_ Iruma, commanding, hands on her hips in the center of the group, and then _"I told you, I don't know,"-_ Tojo, stern but gentle, backed up against a pillar and staring at her with doe eyes, and _"where is Ouma?" -_ Gonta, hovering on the edge of the group with an expression of concern, and _"everyone stay calm, it'll be okay-"_ Amami with his hands raised, trying to calm them down, and then _"what I want to know is where Saihara's is!" -_ Chabashira glaring suspicious at the anthropologist sequestered with his back to the door. 

Kaito, standing between a distressed Angie and a frantic Shirogane, glances up when Kaede rounds the corner and immediately brightens. "Kaede!" He calls up, dropping the hand from Shirogane's shoulder and running to meet her halfway. She runs, too, catching him at the fringe of the group and grabbing his hands. He grips back, instantly, and then releases her, seeming a little embarrassed by it. "Have you got Ouma with you? Did he fess up anything about the note?"

"W- What note?" Kaede frowns up at him, and then over her shoulder, watching as Ouma slinks on after her to join the group. She scans it again- no one's stopped arguing with her presence, and she notes that very few seem calm; Tojo, Amami, and Kaito all seem unbothered but Shirogane is wringing her hands, and Gonta seems concerned but not quite panicked, and Iruma is eyeing everyone suspiciously as Chabashira tugs her twintails and hisses at Ouma the second he approaches.   
It also takes her a moment to place it, but a few people are missing.

Kaito frowns, jerking a thumb back at Saihara, pinning himself to the door of the assassin lab. "When you two went down, we chatted for a bit and then I... mentioned the... whole video deal... To get more information out of him!" He puffs his chest out, presses his fists together, and Kaede watches his nostrils flare and represses a sigh. "He didn't want to fess up, but I didn't let up until he did! I interrogated him until he revealed the secret instructions Ouma left him!"

"I told you as soon as you mentioned everyone was looking for the videos," Saihara mumbles. "A-and they weren't really instructions... He just left me a riddle and said to give it to anyone who came to his lab for the videos."

"Right! So I made him march right down to meet Amami and Shirogane!" Kaito says, proudly. "And then I forced him to hand it over-"

"I gave it as soon as they asked-"

"-And then we came right back here to keep an eye on him, and it looks like it worked! Because they've found all the missing videos now!" Kaito grins, reaching down to thump a hand on Kaede's shoulder. "Nothing to worry about, Kaede. I told you you could count on the tennis champion of the world!"

"Only that's not _true,_ " Shirogane stresses. "Because we didn't find them all. We're still missing a lot."

Ouma makes to slip past the group- stopping when Tojo catches him by the sleeve. He blinks up innocently. "Huh? You're missing some? That doesn't make sense. I definitely hid all of them. Are you sure you solved the riddle right?"

 _"Yes,"_ Tojo says, tightly, "because we found almost every clue but not every clue had a video with it." She releases her grip after a moment and then bows her head, arms tucked behind her back. "It's also notable that you only provided thirteen clues- none for your own video."

Ouma pouts. "Did too. It's not my fault you were too dumb to find it."

"You fuckin' lying little mongoose-"

"Sorry, everyone hold up." Kaede lifts her hands, curls them up, and then sets them down again, scanning the group carefully. "What clues? What riddle?"

Shirogane huffs, frustrated, and crosses her arms over her apron. "Ouma-kun apparently thought it would be _fun_ to leave a message for us. Saihara-kun delivered it shortly after you left with him. It was a riddle... Or more accurately, the beginning of a treasure hunt. After solving the first one, he sent us running all over the school and finding every hidden video."

 _"Horse A,"_ Angie comments, thoughtfully. "Kokichi really chose not to give us much to work with!"

"You say that like you helped out at all," Chabashira huffs. 

"So-" Kaede tries to tune out the clamour, looking betwen Kaito and Tojo. "You didn't find all of them?"

"We tried to gather everyone together to watch the motive videos," Tojo continues soothingly. "A few are missing. We have every video except Angie's, Harukawa-san's, Shinguji-kun's, Ouma-kun's, Saihara-kun's- and my own." 

"Yours?" Kaede asks, blinking. "Why would someone take yours?"

Ouma sighs heavily, staring at his own hand. "I dunno, maybe someone's _really_ into polisci and wanted to stalk her. Or maybe they wanted to bore themselves to sleep with Tojo-chan's super vanilla backstory."

Tojo's eyes glitter like flint for a moment. Kaede feels two degrees colder just looking at them. "...Moving on, the absence of these videos has caused a little... distrust."

"Not to mention the absence of certain _people,"_ Iruma hisses, crossing her arms.

Kaede glances over the group again, all the names and faces that feel more familiar than her own.  
Three of them are missing. Harukawa, Hoshi, and Shinguji. All three are fairly quiet in general, and tend to lurk in the background of group meetings, but their absence is palpable now. 

"Gonta could not find Harukawa anywhere," the artist murmurs, anxiously fussing with his glasses. "Tojo-san told Gonta to just come here with the others and look later, but... Gonta doesn't mind going back out to look again! It feels wrong to talk about the videos without all our friends..."

Amami nods. "He has a point. Both Harukawa and Shinguji have missing videos... I think it would be a good idea to meet with them and see if they know anything. Maybe we should look for them and regroup? And Hoshi too, of cour-"

“Um,” Saihara interrupts. “Can I… go, then? If we aren't watching anything? I gave you the note..."

Ouma waves him off. “Go back to crouching by your books or whatever. You’re dismissed.”

He hovers for a moment, awkwardly, and then ducks his head as he goes. "Call me when we have everyone," he mumbles.

“Is that really okay?” Shirogane asks, frowning. 

Kaede watches him go, clutching the fabric of her shirt. She forces her fingers to unbunch from it. Swallows. "Kaito and I can go to Kiyo's lab?" She offers. "We'll call out for Maki on our way there. He told me he was going to be playing today, so..."

Kaito's as eager to help as ever, jumping up and tearing down the hallway so fast that Kaede has to yell at him to hold up. She waits back a few moments later to try and catch up a little- but it seems like everything is happening all at once. Everyone is exhausted, either from searching nonstop since breakfast or from being woken up in the middle of the night to watch a group of videos that aren't even complete, but they all acquiese, even if Iruma complains the entire time about how she was close to a big win on the slots.   
They plan to regroup in the dorms in an hour- earlier if they find anyone. 

Kaede chases Kaito down the hallway, running to meet his side and wind their way down the long, dim hallways. "So much for training, huh?" He says cheerfully, and she lets out a tired laugh and runs anyway, dancing circles around him as they head forward, because her heart is thumping and her blood is rushing and she needs to do _something_ with her restlessness.

The sound of music leaks over the school as they climb the stairs. It's the same song they heard last time they came to visit Shinguji- leaking out from the walls, soaking the halls in dim, melancholy notes. Kaito's bravado seems to wane a little as they approach, and Kaede teases him lightly, elbowing his side, even if it...  
The song had been unsettling in the day. It's doubly unsettling now, in the dark, with their missing friends. 

"It's a creepy song, but it's just a song," Kaede says, and she's not sure if she's saying it for Kaito or for herself.

_Shinguji stood slowly, brushing down the tails of his waistcoat with his wrapped fingers. " **Piano Sonata No. 9,** by Scriabin," he quoted, flexing his fingers through the air like the legs of an insect. "Nicknamed **The Black Mass,** and known for its emotional complexity. I've been playing purely tragic songs, lately, to honor the deceased." Eyes closed, he placed both palms over his heart, genuine melancholy interjected through his voice. "The combination of inbuilt dissonance and the continuous development of the piece build into something truly tremulous. I think it captures the complexity of the loss of our friends quite well- the violence that was not quite violence. The kindness in their acts. What self-devotion! Only music can reach that level of tragedy."_

It's just a song.   
  


Kaede’s hand reaches the doorknob and

stops.

\--

 _“Have you ever had the sense of something truly awful waiting just beyond a precipice? A sense of dread, just before something happens?” Her mother asked, voice equal parts stern and gentle._ _  
_ _Kaede, seven and tender, her silk sleeves scraping the floor as she lifted her chubby hands to bunch up and nod._ _  
_ _“It feels almost like premonition. That’s what some people call it. Or a sixth sense. What it really is- is ki.”_

 _This made sense to Kaede. Sometimes she visualized her ki as a long, twisting thread, or a river- connecting her to everything around her. A series of notes played to complete a melody, one part of an orchestra._ _  
_ _Her mother, mentor, aunt, leaned down. “I want you to close your eyes, Kaede. If you feel frightened at any point, tell me to stop. Only tell me to stop if you feel uneasy, alright? Otherwise, just wait.”_

_“Stop,” Kaede repeated, half-murmured, words swallowed by her own mouth. She nodded, pulling at her sleeves and then releasing them again._

_Still air. The darkness of her own eyelids. The warmth of the sun outside. Birds chirping. A creak on the floor._ _  
_ _Sudden panic flustering her stomach._

_“Stop,” Kaede said, although she didn’t open her eyes. She was already too well trained for that._

_“Look,” her mentor replied, somewhere over her shoulder, and when she did open them, she jumped- well trained but not perfect. Not yet._ _  
_ _A woman, recognizable from the dojo but not quite familiar, stood only inches away, her hands held out to Kaede’s shoulders, frozen like her command had stopped time. Kaede squirmed back despite it, pooling into the silk of her uniform._

_“Very good.” Her mother scooped her up, lifted her onto her hip and ran a soothing hand up her back. “What made you feel uneasy?”_

_“My ki?” Kaede answered, uncertainly._

_Her mother smiled, leaned down to press their brows together. The woman on the floor sat back and watched. “That’s part of it. You were attuned to the world around you- what made you frightened? What did you sense that was out of place?”_

_Kaede thought on it for a moment. “I heard the mats sticking.”_

_“And?”_

_“You wouldn’t have made them stick. If it was you, I wouldn’t have heard anything at all.”_

_“Very good.” Her mother kissed her forehead and set her down. “Let’s try again, shall we?”_

_\--_

Present day Kaito asks “what’s wrong?” and Kaede, distantly, wonders the same thing.

There’s something wrong. She’s not sure what. Something tells her that there’s nothing good here. And her ki is so weak, so battered and flimsy and ashamed of itself, but she still- she can still tell there's something wrong.

_It's just nerves. It's just your own guilt._

But what if-

The song runs through its familiar melody. She swallows.

“It’s… the same song he played for us a few days ago.” The words only fall into place as she speaks, thinking with her mouth wide open, her hand still hovering over the doorknob. 

“Yeah?” Kaito shifts beside her- he’s noticed, too, even if he hasn’t realized it yet. “It’s creepy.”

Kaede stares down at her own hand, the glint of Iruma’s gold embroidery around her wristband, the way her sleeve hangs like soaked paper. “This is the beginning of the song,” she continues, softly, like she’s afraid of disturbing whatever’s inside. “It’s looped.” Force your eyes to the plaque on the door. Breathe in. Grip the handle. “It didn’t even pause. It just began again. Like… a recording.”

Kaito is silent for a few moments. Then, gently, he elbows Kaede aside. “I’ll go first,” he declares, chest puffed out.

She feels awful for letting him, standing back limply as his hand reaches for the door, quaking with coastline tremors.  
(It’s so easy to depend on someone like that. Someone who’s willing to pretend they’re confident. Kaede might disagree with old-fashioned chivalry, might be the one with any kind of defensive training, might kind of want to make sure Kaito knows she won’t be pushed around- but she lets it happen. She feels like a flute, all hollow and full of holes.

She's his sidekick, right? She can rely on him for this. To go first.)

Kaito steps inside, and makes to close the door behind him. This, at least, she doesn’t allow- maybe it snaps her into action, the thought of being left behind, of being sheltered like she hasn’t already seen and _been_ the worst of everything. Kaede pushes on through before for the warning can fully leave his lips.

Maybe it’s a good thing, that she did. She’s not sure if she could have forced herself through that door if he managed to finish _“Kaede! Don’t come in, it-”_

Because she knew what it meant, as soon as she heard the panic in his voice, and she knew what it meant, when she felt dread coil in her stomach, and part of her had been expecting this, waiting for it, anticipatory like a cow leading the others through the slaughterhouse, but even so-

Kaede stares at the scene before her as the door swings shut and she thinks, simultaneously numb and hysterical, _again? Again? Is this really- god, is this really happening again? Are we doing this again?_

Seeing Kiibo’s body had been the worst moment of her life. She doesn’t think she’ll ever escape it- it terrifies her even now, the scent of blood, the phantom weight in her bag, their eyes, unseeing, empty, the stars on their hoodie all swollen with rust.

But this is horrific in an entirely different way. 

The room is lit only with candles, some burned out completely, others still flickering. The curtains around them are drawn, and the small room, carpeted and cushioned to muffle the acoustics, is sticky with heat from the sheer number of them. There’s an odd smell in the air- something adjacent to rot, blood that’s congealed and cooked. The wax drips like sweat.

Shinguji sits at his piano, tipped back against the seat. His beautiful face is turned skyward, eyes closed, and it’s- it’s Kiibo all over again, she can’t stand it, it’s like looking at some poor, broken doll, and he’s.

He’s smiling. That’s maybe the worst part about it. 

The muscles in his face are so slack that it’s barely there, but his parted mouth is just turned up enough- he looks almost peaceful. Like he’s having some pleasant dream, ready at any moment to animate and play again. 

But he isn’t dreaming, and he can’t play, because the piano keys are covered in melted wax. Because his hands are wrapped in wire, thin, brass, tangled with the bandages dripping from his fingers. Like handcuffs. Like puppet strings. His arms hang limp by his sides, but the wire remains taut, pulled tight around his throat. 

It’s wrapped once, twice, three times around his neck, chafing through the skin there. Even at the back, it’s cutting through his flesh, but when she moves, frozen, liquid, to stand by Kaito’s side and stare at his profile, the front is a thousand times worse. Whoever- whoever did this ripped right into his jugular. It was brutal. She can see muscle, sinew where the wires rubbed away at his flesh, and she can see deep, deep red, soaking through the ruffles of his collar, choking out his adam’s apple. Those vocal chords- piano strings. Frayed through. Torn apart.

There’s only one wound. Should it really be bleeding that much? Should he really be dead?

Kiyo's neck is torn open and Kiibo is soaking into the ground and Himiko is being torn to pieces by tiny metal birds, and Kaede has a shotput in her hands and the weight of Saihara's faith in her chest, and Kaito's hope wrapped around her neck, and her sister is watching and her mother is crying out because how could this _happen,_ why do they keep hurting each other? Kiyo is smiling at the ceiling and Kiibo is staring right into her eyes and Himiko's face is latex ripped from metal and Kaito is speaking but Kaede can't hear any of it. 

The song keeps playing. Music and death. Monokuma’s jingle and Shinguji’s song for mourning. They merge together- the same and distant all at once, inky notes melting through her core. There's _so much blood._ Kiyo's throat is open like he's about to sing. Kaede's is closed up tight.

And the song keeps playing.

Kaede can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe can feel her own throat torn open, smiling like an open mouth, like red lipstick, red wax, dripping through her core and there is nothing for them here, nothing but death, and maybe she's the killer this time, too

she 

she keeps letting her friends die and

her body is being torn open and she can't breathe

The monitor buzzes overhead.

_“A body has been discovered!”_

\--

It’s been twenty six hours since Shuichi last slept, and he needs coffee.

Shuichi has had to hold not only one but three conversations (okay, been in the same room with while they spoke) with Akamatsu, and two with Momota, and he needs coffee. Especially after the cheerful offer to let him in on tennis training (which Shuichi has never, ever received before, especially from someone like Momota- jock in every sense of the word, and Shuichi clutching his copy of _The Battles of Coxinga_ against his chest like a shield.)  
Momota had said _“c’mon, you’re wasting away! Come build up some muscle, Saihara, instead of rotting around with the fruit.”’_

Said fruit had later laughed at him for turning down the offer- he’d asked if Shuichi had been tempted. Shuichi said no, and it had clicked its tongue at him in response and told him he was a terrible liar.  
(And it was a lie, but it was far better than the truth which was _“god I want to but I_ **_can’t do that to Akamatsu.”_ **)

The dining hall is thankfully empty, which is good- the last time he came in here, he got dragged into a really unbearable conversation with Iruma, which basically came down to _not that I care but you’re depressing Bakamatsu and it’s really killing my vibe, so stop being such a fucking freak and actually talk to her again-_ and then she’d called him a variety of slurs, only some of which actually applied and some he thought she might’ve made up.  
Iruma is not one of Shuichi’s favorite people here. He’s sympathetic to her, obviously (lack of praise in childhood, self-worth placed in her appearance and her skills rather than her personality, arrogance as a defense mechanism, addictive personality-) but Shuichi already hates himself enough. He doesn’t need any cosplayers reminding how much he’s messed up. He’s weak, and the insults hurt because they’re true, and they’re distracting when he’s trying to remember everything she says, look for any discrepancies in her words. 

Anyway. Empty dining hall. It’s dark but he hasn’t checked the time. He hasn’t been to the library since midday, and the time away from it is making his skin crawl with unseen variables. He’s checked the motivepads, though, pulled together some kind of chart of events and noted who has messed with who. His boots sound terrifyingly loud on the smooth floor. Coffee. 

Shuichi doesn’t have much time to spend looking for monocoins around the school, so he’s rapidly burning through what they were all awarded at the end of the trial, buying instant coffee after instant coffee and checking their caffeine contents. He has a thermos he brings down to the library- and then he bought three more, because he tends to spend hours in there and the supply runs low faster than you’d think.  
It’s not all bad. There are books. He’s been rereading Hamlet, in a slightly odd translation. Shuichi doesn’t speak _any_ English, but he can read a little (although he guesses if he were to write anything, it would come across stilted and out of date, mostly due to what exactly he reads), and he’s written a bit about Shakespeare’s works and what they say about the perception of royalty in Europe from the center of Britain… nothing that actually interests him particularly, but it had been published in an academic journal, so someone must have liked it.

Japanese doesn’t have a definitive word for ‘be.’ The most famous line of the play- _to be or not to be,_ is impossible to translate without changing the meaning, sacrificing the cadence, altering the tone. Shuichi’s read it before as simply _“Life or death,_ ” which isn’t incorrect- Hamlet is debating suicide, murder, his own existence. But it’s not the same, really.

 _May I leave it as it is, or not?_ Another translator attempted.

_May I remain as I am, or not?_

This translator, aiming for a more casual style of writing, more accessible, wrote, simply, _will I fight or accept it?_

In tragedies, simply living is considered a battle on its own. _That is the question._

“You’re up late.”

Shuichi drops his coffee mug. 

He pulls his mask up as he turns away from the window, heart pounding, and ignores the shattered ceramic on the floor. Hoshi stands a few feet away, silhouetted in the center of the dining room. The only illumination is the dim light Shuichi switched on humming from the kitchen. It feels a little like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

Shuichi’s not really afraid of dying. He is afraid of his companions being murderers, though. Hoshi takes a step forward and he stiffens in a way he’s sure the detective notices, but neither of them comment on it. 

He wets his lips behind the mask, the smell of coffee on his own breath sticking to his skin. “Ah.” Wets them again. Looks behind him, at the sky outside, which is still light enough to make out the fringes of their school. “It’s not that late.”

“It is for you,” Hoshi replies, bullet-quick. “You haven’t been back to the dorms in almost two days. Even _Ouma_ returns more than that.”

Images of late-night conversations flash through Shuichi’s mind- sitting vigil outside the talent lab, passing it over in some kind of unmentioned trade. Shuichi pays this favor for Ouma. Ouma… He’s not sure what he’s actually getting in return, really. But still, when he leaves the library, he finds himself stopping by. Ouma’s not exactly good company- he’s often intentionally cruel, and he’s childish in a way that only serves to make him more frightening, and he lies through his teeth and tries to get Shuichi to “admit” to enjoying the killing game. Shuichi doesn't really like him at all.  
He’s not good company, but… maybe Shuichi thinks he could be a useful ally, if he ever is repaid for watching Ouma’s lab while he gallavants around and causes further mischief. Or maybe he thinks he’s too dangerous to leave him alone. Both are equally sensible notions, he thinks. Especially considering the motive videos… (Has Ouma noticed what Shuichi has? He must have, right? An assassin has plenty of reasons not to trust anyone. Not to trust anything. Shuichi just can’t understand why he’d choose to scatter the videos like this. Is it really just to make things more entertaining?)

“You don’t come to the dining hall often, either,” Hoshi says, critical. He isn’t wrong. “This morning was the first time you’ve stopped by in days.”

“I came by the day before, actually,” Shuichi murmurs in response. “I think you’d already left.” He doesn’t mention how he only came in because he’d been passing by and seen Iruma storming out, half the class at her heels. From what he’d later gathered, they were mad at Hoshi for refusing to help with the search.

The search. 

Shuichi takes a moment to watch Hoshi, Hoshi watching him. The detective’s eyes glitter and Shuichi considers the chances of him being the ringleader. 

Shuichi doesn’t think the ringleader will kill anyone- not like this, anyway. They’re a conductor, here to enjoy the show. The sort of perverted killer who wants to watch every bit of it; he’s read about them before, about what motivates someone to make a name for themselves like this. (But something of this scale… there’s outside help, surely. Some kind of trafficking ring? An organized group trying to bring down the ultimates? It doesn’t gel with his memories of the ultimate hunt. Any motivations he tries to divulge for whoever’s behind this fall apart- like they’re not even human at all.)  
No, if the ringleader killed him, the game would end for them one way or another. He doesn’t think they’ll risk it.

Unless Hoshi isn’t the ringleader. Unless Hoshi kills him anyway. (And he could, so easily. Violence is intertwined with humanity, right from birth. A child plays with toy guns and understands how to break and hurt before the concept of mortality weighs them down.)

Hoshi pushes the brim of his hat up with a thumb. For a moment, the gesture niggles in between Shuichi’s ears- an odd deja vu. He thinks back to standing next to him in the trial room, holding a dark kind of eye contact as they pinned Himiko to the wall. 

“Hoshi-kun…” Shuichi starts, slowly. “Um, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” Hoshi replies, gaze a little distant. Shuichi remembers reading about his case in the paper- ultimate detective gone rogue. Atrocities committed. Revenge quest. He remembers seeing his blank expression in the mugshots. (Additional memories, too, from this morning… from longer ago. Standing on the train and listening to people talk about how the ultimate detective was exactly why they needed the ultimate hunt. Thinking back to his own paper, the blood on his hands, and understanding exactly why they wanted to get rid of him.)

Shuichi glances down at the spilled coffee so he has to look anywhere but Hoshi’s empty eyes. “You’ve… expressed that you don’t want to get involved in searching for the videos. That’s understandable, in your position.” (Nobody likes bad memories, or reminders of them. It’s not exactly complicated psychoanalysis.) “And I also understand that you’re feeling… down, at the moment.” (Chronic depression and untreated C-PTSD, but the video has probably triggered a particularly bad spiral. Hoshi smells like ash constantly and the student store is out of cigarettes. Shuichi isn’t sleeping. Hoshi is sleeping too much.) “So I suppose… I’m wondering why you’re helping out at all?” He tilts his head, a hand hovering up to his mouth, mind flashing between possibilities. He doesn’t want to make Hoshi’s condition worse. He doesn’t want to miss anything that might give something important about him away. 

“I’m not,” Hoshi says.

“But you’ve been spending time with Amami-kun and Tojo-san, and Shirogane-san, too… and those three are probably the most active in trying to arrange the class,” he says, softly.

“Only because Akamatsu is still recovering,” Hoshi replies. His expression barely changes.

Shuichi’s chest tightens. “So, you’ll help her, too, when she feels better?” If. When. Akamatsu probably feels broken. Her talent- Her aikido. Her philosophy. Shuichi took all of that from her.  
But she’ll get past it. She’s Akamatsu. She’s stronger than he’ll ever be. 

Hoshi grunts. “I don’t mind running messages,” he says. “Or helping ‘em get people together. But I’m not deducting anymore. I’ll help with the basics, if they want- but as far as I’m concerned, I’d be more use dead.”  
Shuichi almost opens his mouth, before the detective continues, flicking a piece of lint off the lapels of his jacket. “...I don't blame you for suspecting me."

Ouma would think this was pretty funny, Shuichi thinks idly. Akamatsu would hate it. Him and Hoshi, two pseudo-classmates, staring each other down in a dim room. A prisoner’s dilemma, each one suspecting the other of everything.

The monitor clicks on.

_“A body has been discovered!”_

The rest of the announcement drones out. Hoshi is looking at him. Shuichi can feel Hoshi looking at him. 

“What’s the time?” He asks, quietly. 

The detective eyes him for a moment. He can imagine half a noir movie playing through his head. Narration and everything. Whatever that gruff voiceover said, Hoshi lifts his arm, rolls back the ends of his coat, and glances down at his stopwatch. (As if he were mildly committed to the brooding detective aesthetic.) “...Half past one.”

Shuichi nods. He’s sure Hoshi can see his eyes flaming, something in his very being dripping wax down through his core.

_A body has been discovered. A body has been discovered._

“Okay,” he says, and his voice cracks a little through the first word, but he tugs his mask up, and the rest comes out a little more okay and a little less _third-month-on-T_. “Ah. I should probably get going, then.”

Hoshi’s watching him, watching him as he heads for the door. The detective always stays five steps back, like he’s giving himself space to aim. Shuichi has no doubt he could kill him, if he wanted. His whole body is melting.  
“You’re not going toward the pianist’s lab,” Hoshi says, from a few feet behind him.

Shuichi resists the urge to pull at his mask again. 

“No,” he says.

“Why not?” Hoshi asks. His voice is closer now.

Shuichi reaches the door. He doesn’t stop moving until he has the knob in hand, ready to turn. When he does, though, he looks back, finds Hoshi, ever-casual, always-tense, staring up at him. 

Shuichi turns his head a little, shrugs a shoulder. “Well, um. I’m pretty sure I already know who did it,” he explains. 

Hoshi’s eyes are like soot, usually, but sometimes something blows off all that ash and the cinders underneath flare up. “We don’t even know who was killed.”

Shuichi lifts his eyes to the clock in the dining room. Hoshi was right. It’s one thirty-six. 

Part of Shuichi wants to say _You could probably figure it out, too, if you weren’t so determined to hide from any reminder of your past,_ but the rest of him recognizes he’s not in any place to be making judgements. 

Shuichi thinks he knows who was killed. He thinks it’s his fault, a little bit, that they died- that he didn’t try harder, do more. He was too slow to act, too wary. Sometimes he wishes someone would just tell him what to do.

Usually, when he thinks that, he goes to see Ouma, and instead of getting any kind of guidance from Assassin-Who-Clearly-Has-A-Plan-For-Better-Or-Worse-In-That-Lab, he gets even more confused. He wishes he still had Akamatsu’s hand in his.

Hoshi’s the detective. Hoshi is smart, but he won’t let himself get involved- and yet he tries to save others, works with the more sober in their little colosseum to… help?

If Hoshi is the ringleader- (and there _is_ a ringleader, he knows there is), if Hoshi is the ringleader, that would be bad. 

If Tojo is the ringleader it’s bad, if Momota is the ringleader it’s bad, if Amami is the ringleader it’s bad, if Angie is the ringleader it’s bad, if Chabashira is the ringleader it’s bad, if Harukawa is the ringleader that’s extremely, extremely bad. 

If Akamatsu-

That’s why he sticks with Ouma. Because if Ouma is the ringleader, it won’t hurt. It’ll be too obvious. A child’s fairytale where you can tell which character is the villain straight away because they’re dressed in black and white and have some kind of offensive caricature to them.  
(And even if he isn’t, he’s an assassin. If he kills someone, Shuichi will see it coming.)

“It said it was in the ultimate pianist’s lab, right?” Shuichi asks, slowly pulling the door open. 

Hoshi’s eyes flicker. Suspicion or analysis? 

“Then, yes, I think I know who did it. I’m going to go and read until it’s time for the trial, so I don’t get in the way.”

Heart pounding with the lie, Shuichi pulls the door open and bites his lip at the same time. He has to stop himself from running down the hall- one step at a time, toward the stairs. There’s got to be something. Maybe he’ll catch them leaving. Or his cameras will have caught something. Or- if they haven’t- he’ll then be one step closer to figuring out _why_ they haven’t. It’s only one trap, but it’s something.

“Saihara.” 

His name pulls him short, body twisting back again. 

Hoshi’s head is bowed. It’s hard to see any embers under the brim of his hat. “Why don’t you go and tell everyone? Save us some trouble.”

Shuichi chews the question over for a moment. Hand to his mouth, he finds something colored like truth. “Well, I’m not certain, so I’d like to wait to see how people react and if anyone else figures it out. To see if anyone knows anything suspicious- or if I’m wrong, and they’re one step ahead of me.”

It’s not a lie, exactly, but it’s covering up the larger reason. The real answer, of course, would look like this: _I made a mistake last time and that’s why I’ll keep my suspicions to myself until I can’t. Because if I’d said something, what if someone decided to…_

It’s his fault Kiibo died, but it’s not his fault this time, right? He’d thought it over. There’s no way he could risk it. He lets Akamatsu into the plan. Akamatsu- violence averse, philosophizing Akamatsu- tries to kill Kiibo. H1M1 interferes. Three people stained with blood, and Shuichi, staring at instant camera after camera and wondering how they always know how to avoid the intervals. 

Take two. A second mystery. He lets Akamatsu into the plan and she has a second burden placed on her shoulders. She's given no chance to heal- and she tries to interfere, tries to put herself in danger. Probably tells Momota, too, and what if...

He lets Ouma into the plan. Ouma is an assassin. Ouma thinks it’s funny to mess with it and someone gets hurt.

He lets Momota- one of the people who was always nice to him, who makes Shuichi’s face feel hot when he smiles, who punched him clean in the face for his ? own good ? , who has still made the odd attempt to reach out that Shuichi has either fled from or crumpled under- into the plan. Momota refuses to believe anyone would hurt someone else. He tries a straightforward confrontation. Someone gets hurt. 

He lets Hoshi/Tojo/Amami/Shirogane into the plan and they immediately run to tell the others, and while Shuichi might take a risk with one out of fourteen _not_ being the ringleader, he’s not especially inclined to take that risk with a _group._

He confronts the potential aggressors himself. Shuichi is brittle and holds little regard for his own life. He gets murdered and that’s one less person actively trying to escape.

He waits. He does nothing. That’s… not on him. He’s busy, he’s trying to solve this. He’s trying to help. It’s not his fault they won’t stop killing each other!

Shuichi wishes someone would talk to him so badly. He wishes that this- this awkwardness with Hoshi, the unaddressed punch with Momota, the way he can’t _look_ at Akamatsu without feeling so guilty his stomach curdles- He wishes it was all gone. He feels so alone, and he hates feeling alone, he hates not knowing what he should do. Akamatsu had made him feel like… he was someone she could trust. Depend on. Like their plan might work.  
But he wasn’t. He let her down. 

He wishes he could sit with her again. Every time he slips off in front of the bookcase in the library, every time he collapses in his bed, he wishes he’ll wake up and he won’t be so afraid anymore. That someone could just… reaffirm he knew what he was doing. 

“You’re exhausted,” Hoshi says, critically. “You won’t catch anything if you push yourself _that_ hard.”

Hoshi was lucky, in a way. Shuichi had watched every motive video he could get his hands on. (And then he’d put them back into Ouma’s carefully selected spots. He hadn’t learned everything, but he’d seen enough. _Akamatsu. Amami. Harukawa. Shirogane. Gonta. Angie. Iruma._ Shinguji. _)_ Hoshi’s had been so empty that it depressed even him. That lack of hope… that’s why he didn’t know there wasn’t any other option. 

There wasn't anything to do but push. There wasn't any option but exhaustion.

“Maybe not,” Shuichi replies. This is something he has to do, he thinks. Even if he questions himself every step of the way. “You should go join them, Hoshi-kun. They’ll need a detective to get them through.”

He hurries onward, down the hall and down the steps, not stopping till he’s reached the basement and then the library, hurrying to check the hidden door, and he doesn’t look back.

Dust disturbed. They can’t exactly avoid it. 

But no camera footage, as usual. Like they knew exactly where they were and how to avoid them, even though Shuichi had been completely alone every single time he moved their position. The student store has stopped selling instant cameras. He’s sure these ones will turn up broken any day now. 

He tries not to think about Hoshi as he checks things over, but he does, anyway. 

An ultimate detective in a killing game who doesn't want to detect. It just seems so unfair.

\--

By the time the others reach the pianist’s lab, Kaede has managed to collect herself. Sort of.  
There’s still a panicked, hysterical part of her, the part still pulsing in her chest, that keeps telling her she's the one who did it, even if she _knows_ she didn't, but-

(but Himiko didn't know she'd done it, had she? She'd been just as surprised as the rest of them. Kaede's been with Kaito almost all day, doesn't have any blacked out periods, but- but maybe-  
Imagine the irony. It would really be her just desserts.)

They all circle the body. A few people look anywhere else. Kaede can't look away.

"Where's Saihara?" Kaito asks, even his voice a little muted. Kaede continues to stare at Kiyo, but something in her flickered at the question.

"Said he was headed to the library," Hoshi replies, gruffly, producing a magnifying glass from one of his pockets and smudging it off on the fabric of his shirt with dull thumbs. "I ran into him in the kitchen just before the announcement." And then nobody says anything more, watching the ultimate detective step forward and inspect the body like the whole room is holding its breath. "Someone check the monokuma files."

Obediently, Shirogane pulls out her pad, and reads it aloud. Victim: Shinguji Korekiyo. Location: the ultimate pianist’s talent lab. Cause of death: suffocation. 

"S-suffocation?" Iruma scoffs. "Not all the fucking blood?"

Hoshi grunts, climbing over the piano to get eye level with Shinguji's neck. There's something a little funny about it- this grizzled detective kneeling on a piano to examine a corpse, too small to see without assistance. A giggle bubbles up and then dies in Kaede's own throat. (It sort of looks like Kiyo is laughing, too, in the flickering candlelight.) "It's more likely to die from blood loss when your throat is cut, but it looks like he was garotted with the wires." He moves the glass sideways, assessing, away from the puddle of congealed gore and across the wires that aren't completely soaked in blood. "Piano wire, probably. Made of steel. Hard to cut with unless you've got a decent amount of strength- which explains why he died of suffocation instead."

Gonta moves around to the back of the piano and, after blowing out the candles flickering over top and dimming the room, flips it open with surprising ease and gentleness- the melted wax sticking to the top. He peers inside for a moment, then lifts his head. "The wires are not from the piano, though..."

Nearby, Angie moves to sort through a series of boxes- Kaede dully notes that they're labeled with _maintenance and care._ "Ah, but there's an empty box of wire in here!"

"Hmph," Hoshi grunts. "Whoever did this didn't have the decency to cut deep enough. They got the windpipe but not the arteries- too much force on the front and not the sides. I'm willing to bet if we cut him open his lungs'd be completely full of blood."

Kaede's entire stomach sinks. She stares at Shinguji again, his ripped throat, the closed eyes, the blood that must have soaked his body so, so slowly.   
He must have died slowly. He looks like he just accepted his fate.

How could- how could _anyone_ do this??

"Similar effect to drowning," Hoshi continues, reaching in with bare fingers, and -god- peeling apart the wound from around the wire. "Yeah, looks like the windpipe's crushed." He jumps down from the piano and another hysterical giggle rattles silently through her chest as she watches him move over to inspect his hands. "Huh. His hands are scarred, too."

She moves over despite herself, kneeling by Hoshi's side, and she thinks Kaito or someone has followed but she can't bring herself to look. Instead, she stares at Shinguji's hands, with their bandages dripping over the ground, more white candle wax. And she sucks in a breath between her teeth, so sharp it hurts.   
Shinguji's hands look _awful._ They're covered in welts on the back and thin, silver slices between and over his fingers- old scars, patterning his skin like stretch marks, tiger print scratches and mottled bruises, and fresh ones laid over the top- old wounds ripped open. 

"Hm." Hoshi picks up the wire and compares it to Shinguji's palms, and Kaede has to force herself not to hyperventilate while she watches him -like it's nothing- wrap the wire around his palms. "Akamatsu, check out the piano for me." 

_Snap out of it._

Kaede lets herself get in one last breath that doesn't quite reach her lungs. (Maybe she's drowning in blood, too. In Kiibo's, in Himiko's bright pink oil, in Shinguji's, in whoever else she's going to have to-)   
Someone has to. Someone has to make sure they survive. She gets to her feet, slowly, thinks about her own promise, her own wish. 

Forces a reassuring smile for Hoshi as she gets to her feet and moves to examine the piano. 

Shirogane joins her, quiet, and the two flip the lid of the piano back up and stare at the display again. Kaede presses each piano key, slow and careful, notes which ones are stuck with wax and which ones can be played, and then wonders if that means anything at all. Gonta shuffles back over, ready to help, but she doesn't know what to say.

The candles. All in different lengths, but a few unlit ones still stand tall in their intricate holders. Some are nothing but a puddle of wax, some are half-burned, some still flickering. Kaede wants to blow them out, but instead she notes how many are still lit- seven - and that there doesn’t appear to be any order to the way they’ve burned through.  
“So it’s impossible to gauge the time of death through these,” Hoshi comments, moving over and lighting a cigarette in one of the ones resting on the top of the piano. “Clever.”

“Then why light them at all?” Kaede asks him, reaching out to press her finger to the hot wax. He slaps her hand back, and there’s a second where she almost wrist-grabs him, before she realizes. _Evidence._

“Two clear options, the way I see it,” he says, pulling out the magnifying glass again. Kaede doesn’t think she’s seen him use it before- it makes her kind of happy, to see him taking this seriously. In an awful, twisted way. “Either-” Hoshi leans forward, slowly dragging his gaze over the open piano, ignoring the body like it’s nothing. “They were already burned through at different lengths before being lit today, or someone burned them like this intentionally.”

"Is there any way to be sure which?" Gonta asks, softly. Hoshi shakes his head, and the artist frowns, pushing up his glasses thoughtfully. "Kiyo has played for Gonta before. Gonta knows that he likes to light candles, for... ambience."

"He's played for you before?" Kaede asks, something twisting just a little in her chest. She thinks back to their earlier conversation- Kiyo, so thoughtful, so interested in teaching her a little music.  
Her eyes sting.

Gonta nods, smiling briefly, before it completely and utterly drops. "Gonta's hands are too big to learn, but... we talk about art together. Gonta wanted to paint him... playing."

They go quiet for a moment, all of them. 

Kaede reaches out, instinctively, to take Gonta's hand, and her voice won't come for a moment, but she squeezes it tight. Gonta squeezes back and it feels a little like her bones are breaking, but it's worth it. "...Maybe you still can. In. Memory."

He doesn't say anything, but he tries to smile even as he very clearly dissolves into tears.

More investigation. More hearts breaking- Iruma, scoffing, says that Shinguji was always a creep and good riddance and all, but she can't hide the tremble of her lip, the way she looks anywhere but the body. Kaede collects alibis- but there's no time of death, so really all she does is desperately note who was searching and who wasn't. She forms two separate groups- watchers and seekers. The watchers; her, Kaito, Angie, Iruma, Saihara, Ouma, Hoshi- Shinguji himself. The seekers- Tojo, Amami, Shirogane, Chabashira, Gonta. Harukawa, all on her own, informing Kaede that there's no point looking for alibis in a case as messy as this.  
And then- _"Yet," she says, quietly. "At least until more is revealed. Focus on the physical evidence first."_

The physical evidence is unfortunately lacking, too. The piano. The candles resting on it. The wire wound around Kiyo's throat, the bandages dripping from his wrists, the wounds themselves, the candles. The monokuma files. 

Then Shirogane uncovers a knife tucked away between a set of records. For a moment, they all crowd around, confused by this new addition to the line of events.

“Hey,” Ouma chirps, balanced on his tiptoes to peer over Angie's shoulder. “That’s my knife!”

Everyone turns to him, sharply. He pouts. “Oh, come on, you don’t think I’d make such an amateur mistake, do you? Please.”

Hoshi picks it up and turns it over, frowning at it. “It’s clean. And still hidden away. I don’t think it was used here.” 

“How did _your_ knife end up in _Shinguji’s_ lab?” Iruma jabs, crossing her arms over the top of her tight-laced corset. “Seems kinda fuckin’ suspicious to me!”

Ouma inspects his fingers, flicking at one of his cuticles. “Oh, because I was planning on killing him later, and wanted to keep one on location just in case the bazooka didn’t cut it.” 

“That’s just one of the knives from the kitchen,” Shirogane says, high and accusing. “It’s not even yours at all, stop lying!”

“Nuh-uh!” The assassin elbows his pointy little way through the crowd until he reaches Hoshi’s side, holding out his hand expectantly. Hoshi passes it over without a second thought, not even blinking as Ouma jabs it in front of his face. “See? It’s got my initials carved in the hilt. I did that with another knife. So it’s mine now!” He grins around the room, tossing it back down and folding his arms behind his head. “As the ultimate assassin, naturally I have automatic claim over all knives in this place.”

“That is plainly _not_ how that works,” Shirogane mutters, glaring at him from the side of her glasses. Kaede gives her a sympathetic smile as she steps over.

For once they’re both telling the truth. It’s just one of the butchering knives from the dining hall, but- O.K. ♥, messily carved into the hilt. 

“Well, that’s just suspicious,” Amami mutters. 

Ouma reaches for the knife, but Kaede gets there first, sending him a sharp glare as she tucks it into her satchel. “It’s evidence,” she tells him. “You can’t have it.” _Also, the less knives on you, the better._

“It wasn’t even me,” he whines. “Saihara-chan and I were together all day! The only time I haven’t been with him, I was with depressed hero Akamatsu! And he was with Momota-chan, back at my lab.” 

“Tch,” Kaito says, crossing his arms and looking sideways. “Like we can trust anything you say.”

“No,” Kaede murmurs, resisting the urge to rub her eyes. “He’s probably right. They left breakfast together, and we were all together when Tojo and Amami-kun showed up.” There’s still a big gap where they only have each other accounted for, but that’s okay. They can sort that out during the trial.  
God. Another trial.

There's no time to mourn, or to choke on her fear. Kaede runs through the room again, relooks at Kiyo's body and fights back the bile, then shuffles out to search for a Chabashira who disappeared down the hall with a muffled gasp. Kaito follows, and even he's subdued as they sweep the floors and find nothing more. Everything is a little out of place- furniture shifted during the search, storage left open, doors unclosed. 

Chabashira stands by the lockers near the gym, shuffling through notecards. When Kaede peers at them, they make no sense to her- cramped full of hasty writing in technical terms she doesn’t understand, half a blueprint and then a series of exclamations. 

Kaede peers over her shoulder to read them, and Chabashira's ears turn red as she angles her body to hide them, turning back to blink at Kaede. The air between them still fritzes awkwardly- She knows Chabashira hasn't forgotten Himiko's death. (And who caused it.) But she's still polite as ever, tucking the notes away and twisting the ends of her braids. "Um, Akamatsu-san. What is it?"  
Kaito motions to step closer and peer at the cards as she puts them away, too, but one frosty glare has him keeping his distance. "I see the degenerate is still bothering you."

"Kaito's a friend," Kaede says softly, and tries not to wince at the way Chabashira's eyes narrow. (She thinks Chabashira blames Saihara, a little bit- maybe more than Kaede. It makes her feel awful, especially watching history repeat itself. She can practically read _yet another man tricking Akamatsu-san into trouble again_ written all over her face. She's a little insulted, but- honestly, she doesn't have the right to be insulted.) "What are you looking at?"

"I thought I remembered a clue," Chabashira says, a little proud of herself, and then wilts. "But I don't think it's anything important." She gestures to the lockers, and Kaede takes a moment to scan them, all lined up in neat rows with their names printed out, in a nonsensical order. "Ouma-san's locker was open, earlier. He stuffs his things in it sometimes, and he always locks it. But it was open when I went searching earlier today. It's shut now, but still unlocked."

"Huh." Kaito opens the door, and all three of them peer in- a little nervously, but it seems mainly full of trash. A few crumpled doodles and what look like weird, discarded murder plans drawn in sparkly gel pen- ones that make no sense at all. After the third descriptor of setting bombs off in the gym that flood it with glitter and suffocate everyone, and the detailed plot of summoning a demon, Kaede decides it's probably all a joke. There's not much else there- a few more kitchen knives, all with those same initials marked in, a rotten apple core, more trash, a handful of dice. 

It's nothing suspicious on its own, but paired with the knife... weird. Weird it was open. Weird that it's closed but still unlocked. (Then again, everything about Ouma is weird.)

She returns to the room, heart heavy; scans the remaining people they have yet to interview. Next to her, Chabashira hovers at a respectful distance- like a bodyguard aimed with steel wrenches. Tojo, Amami.   
Then Saihara.

The ultimate leader is as composed as ever, next to Hoshi, running her fingers over the wax coating the piano. She smiles when she sees Kaede. "Hello, Akamatsu-san." Tojo folds her hands in front of her- she has eyes like a doe's, a little sympathetic. "How are you managing?"

It's a little embarrassing to be read so easily- Kaede resolves to do a better job acting calm. It's not... good, to suppress your emotions- stifles your ki, fixes nothing, but she refuses to have the others burdened by her any more than they have been. She'll process it all later, after the trial. Right now, she smiles back at Tojo, warm but tired. Honest. Shrugs her shoulders a little sheepishly. "Ah, it's... Awful. I'm so sorry this happened to Kiyo. But I'm determined to make sure we all get through this trial! You can count on me, Tojo-san! I won't let you down."

"I believe in you," Tojo replies, a lock of dull hair falling over her face. She brushes it back with elegant fingers, then tilts her head. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Ah- Kaito and I are taking alibis, right now!" Kaede pumps her fists with energy she doesn't feel; but it earns her a soft laugh and that feels worth it. "Although... It's not really alibis. I guess we're jut asking for accounts of the day, and wondering if you noticed anything suspicious?"

Tojo frowns, shifting her weight thoughtfully. "Hm. Unfortunately, I can't say I'm constantly accounted for- while I spent the majority of my day with Shirogane-san and Amami-kun, we did split up to cover more ground, and there's about two hours later in the day that I'm unaccounted for. Presumably, it's the same for them. I did cross paths with Hoshi-kun a few times during that period, but perhaps not enough to assuage any concern of guilt." She pauses for a moment, lifting a finger as if giving a lecture. "As for anything suspicious- well, there's everything with Ouma, and the search for the videos themselves. I've already told you which ones we found, but of note- we're missing his, Saihara's, my own, Harukawa's, and Shinguji himself's. It's... an unfortunately large percentage, but once we realized the pattern of the videos we stuck to that, so it's entirely possible we've missed something. I think Chabashira and Gonta are still searching to see if we can discover them in the nick of time." She bows her head. "I'm sorry not to be of more use- Amami spoke to people a little more than I did, so it's possible he's discovered something I missed."

"Thank you, Tojo-san." Kaede's heart thuds in her chest as she lists the information, dedicating it to memory. It's all important. She knows it is. "I'll go catch up with him now!" She's already turning aay, poised on her sandals, eyes scanning the room for a shock of green, when she pauses and turns on her heel to shoot a smile over her shoulder. "Don't worry, Tojo-san! It'll be okay."

There's a flicker of something like surprise in Tojo's eyes before she smiles as Kaede turns again to hurry off.

She finds Amami and Kaito both shuffling through records- Amami asking if they might mean anything, if Kaito remembers the order they were in the last time they entered the lab. Kaito is clearly blustering for a response; he catches Kaede's eye and she has to bite back a smile, moving to stand by him. 

"Hey, Akamatsu-san," he says, comforting as ever. Kaede catches his eye and bites her lip, a little ashamed of the way he looks at her with such faith, even after-

"I'm sorry," she says, before he can ask if she's doing okay. "I-" She bunches her hands up in her skirt. "I should have helped with the search for the videos. Maybe if we'd found them earlier, Shinguji...."

"Hey, hey." He reaches out for her, brow creasing, and catches the silk of her sleeve in his open palm. "It's not your fault, Akamatsu-san. No one thinks it's your fault." 

She inhales, shaky, as Amami takes her hand, gently closing his palm over hers. "I- I know that." She knows none of them blame her, barring-  
_Saihara,_ who wouldn't meet her eye and shuffled away as fast as he could, who isn't even here after the body discovery announcement, when even Harukawa showed up, who blames her and he's right to-   
But the others don't. Somehow. And she can't let them down. Kaede forces a smile to her face, squeezing Amami's hand tight. "I'm just... thinking about how to keep everyone safe, I guess. I, um. I was really..."   
_I was really confident the last time, because I thought I knew who did it._

But she doesn't know now, and she doesn't have any alibis to make sense of, and all the evidence seems to lead in circles. 

Amami frowns for a moment, thoughtful, and releases her hand. He turns to the side, and Kaede glances a little helplessly over to Kaito, who just shrugs, as he lowers his head to think. The magician's cloak seems to float around him for a moment, before he looks back. "Hm... I think we'll be okay." Something flickers in his eyes for a moment- something determined and dark that has Kaede a little unsettled. "We won't let whoever did this get away with it." 

She nods, breathing out, slow, but can't help from tacking on- "we'll make sure the class is safe in the trial."   
Because she can't- she can't bear the thought of someone doing this _again,_ can't stand the idea that someone would look at what she did, would look at what Himiko had to do, would look at Kiibo's blood on the floor and decide...  
Again. Again.  
(If it's happened twice, what's to stop...)

"I believe in everyone," Kaede says, because she _does._ "I- I meant it when I said I wanted us all to be friends. Even if someone did..." _kill._ "...something like this, I still believe in them. And- the truth will come out. I know we'll be okay."

They'll be down two more friends. Two more classmates in this empty school. 

Amami's face immediately lightens again, and he gives her a gentle smile. "That's right, Akamatsu-san. We'll get through this. Especially with you here to help." 

"Ah, stop..." She can feel her face heating, and Kaito's still poking in the record cases, no help at all. 

The magician laughs, not unkindly, and shifts his weight to the side, looking back at her. "It's true. I think you've proven that you only have our best interests at heart... So, what can I do to help you? Momota-kun said you were collecting alibis?"

Kaede nods, and then brightens. "Oh! Tojo-san said you spoke to people a bit more than she did, during the search? I was wondering if you learned anything strange from that... If Kiyo mentioned someone acting strange or if someone was doing something unusual..."

He frowns as he thinks it over, cape flicking back as he rests his hands on his hips. "Hm. Well, I can't really think of anything that stands out specifically... No one was really acting that strange today. Well," he acquieses, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck with an uncomfortable laugh. "Stranger than usual."

It's... not a bad point. Ultimates, Kaede's learned, tend to be the sort of unusual people that make it hard to tell when they're acting out of the ordinary. Does the fact Iruma was dressed nicer than usual today mean anything? Chabashira's seemed notably twitchy. Shinguji himself tended to have a kind of unsettling aura. Saihara isn't here. 

"But," Amami continues, after a brief pause. "I guess it's just worth mentioning, if you're plotting out a timeline. I met with Shinguji-kun in the late afternoon... A few hours before I came to see you with Tojo. It was the first time I'd seen him since breakfast."

Kaede nods, biting her lip. She hadn't seen him since breakfast, either. (She wonders if he was locked up in his lab all day, preparing for a death he didn't know was coming. Maybe on some level, he was playing that mourning song for himself.) "And... he didn't seem any different than usual?"

Amami shakes his head. "He was very polite. We talked a bit about the last trick I'd shown him, and I offered to put roses in his hair again..." For a moment, Amami's voice trails off, before it returns, but he's frowning now, focused on the task ahead. "And he asked about how the video search was going. He was the one who suggested getting Ouma-kun away from his lab, actually."

_"What?"_

"He was the one who suggested it- I said we were worried it would be dangerous, but he made a good point about scoping it out, and having someone question him. That was why we came to you." Amami lowers his head, shifting away again. "I'm sorry we got you involved at all, Akamatsu-san."

"No, it's..." She can't quite find the words. This feels important, somehow, but she can't put her fingers on why. "I thought Shinguji-kun didn't care about the motive videos?"

Amami shrugs, still frowning. "I figured he was... interested. In the events." He winces a little. "Not to speak ill of the departed, but he's always been enthusiastic about observing us. He said he'd write a song about our valiant quests."

"Okay." Kaede inhales the information and tucks it somewhere into one of her meditative spots- the peaceful rivers and weeping willows slowly being stacked full of information about murders and facts about blood loss and suffocation and and psychological profiles. "Thank you, Amami-kun. You've been a big help."

When he smiles again, something in her chest eases up a little- a relief she didn't even know she'd find. "Any time, Akamatsu."

She intends to relay all this information to Kaito when she meets him- he's slowly shuffled halfway around the room, sorting his way through every single record with the same focused expression. Kaede... really isn't quite sure how this relates to the case, but he insists he's onto something, and who is she to question the actions of the hero? (Who is she to question anyone's actions ever again? She murdered two of her friends. She let another of her friends kill again.)   
After sorting through another box, Kaede helping him work through, Kaito proudly declares that there are no more hidden knives in the room. Kaede supposes this is somewhat useful information.  
Kaito then suggests they go find Saihara, which is. A good idea. But not one she's particularly enthusiastic about.

Kaede sends him on ahead of her, and takes a moment to look back at Shinguji Korekiyo, to remind herself why she needs to keep going.

She doesn't find any new clues, but she isn't really looking for them. The rest of the class is still shuffling around, picking up pieces of musical script, folding together papers and filling their pockets with coins and murmuring to each other- accusation and conversation and comfort, all bundled up into one.   
Kaede crosses over to Shinguji's side, quickly, heart either pounding too hard or not pounding at all. Either none of them are paying any attention to her or all of them are.  
She kneels down by his side, takes his hands in hers. Her fingers shake against his bandages as she unwinds the wire. It's wrapped right around his wrists, tied and twisted up to tie it down, and it takes her a while to properly unwind it. The right hand comes apart even harder than the left- _like bracelets,_ she thinks faintly, thinking of the number of times she got frustrated and snapped a clasp when she was younger when her sister refused to help her pull apart the chains.

When she's finishes, the chains still hang from his neck but not his hands. She takes them- bandages and all- and sets them gently in his lap.

She feels like she should say something. She's not sure if there's anything to say except _I'm sorry,_ and she'd already repeated that into her hands about a hundred times before Kaito managed to calm her down.

All she can do now is keep going. Kaede heads out, her stomach sick and low, looking for Saihara.

“Akamatsu.” Hoshi’s voice pulls her short.

She pauses at the door, looks back. Kaito’s already a few feet down the hall. 

“You said it was just you ‘n Momota who found the body, right?”

She nods, a little blankly. Is she processing? Is she not processing? (They found a body. They found a body.)  
“W-why?” She asks, and then, after a pause- “You all came up as soon as we did, and we can vouch for each other-”

Hoshi flicks ash off his shoulder. She gets the distinct impression he’s judging her. “You got a ways to go,” he grumbles. “It’s not that.”

“Not…” She trails off. Next to Hoshi, Tojo blinks.

“Oh,” she says, softly. “The body discovery announcement.”

It takes Kaede a few moments to piece the events together, her heart floundering in her chest, her brain ticking a few beats too slow. 

“...The announcement plays after three people see the body,” she says, slowly. “Not including the blackened.”

Immediately, the politician turns back to the room, a note of something commanding in her voice- a gentle leadership, bright eyes peering under her birdcage veil. “Has anyone withheld any information about this murder?” She asks, and her voice is still calm, even now. A twinge of envy tugs at Kaede’s chest.

The class murmurs but doesn’t speak up. They’re all there, all gathered around, except…

“Where’s Saihara?” Chabashira asks, and she makes no effort to disguise the suspicion in her voice.

A lump of something rises in Kaede’s throat, like she’s swallowed far too fast. She smiles around it. “Kaito and I are going to find him. We’ll ask if he knows anything, don’t worry. I’m… pretty sure I know where he is.”  
There’s really only one place she can picture him that isn’t the scene of the crime.

Everyone stares at her, clearly skeptical, clearly suspicious. She smiles back at them all, despite herself. “Don’t worry. Kaito’s gone ahead of me- and we’re pretty tough! We’ll make sure we find out if there’s anything weird going on.”  
(There won’t be. It’s Saihara. If someone here is hiding something, it’s not him.)

“Be careful,” Shirogane says, softly, and Kaede can feel all their eyes on her as she leaves the lab.

\--

The trip down to the basement is unbearable. With every step down those stairs, she swears the air gets heavier- tighter- crawling down her throat and inside her brain. 

Kaede pauses outside the library. 

She knows- she’s gotta- she has to-

Kaito sets a hand on her shoulder. She jumps, but he doesn’t mention it, just leans down to look at her, face crumpled. 

“Y’know,” he says, fingers curling around the curve of her muscle. “You don’t have to do this, okay? As your local hero-” Her mouth, almost unbidden, quirks up into an empty smile, and he smiles back, slowly. “-it’s my job to protect you as much as the others.”

“It’s just-” And her breath is coming quick now, and she’s thinking of Shinguji’s face, and Saihara standing in the empty library, and Kiibo, and the blood on the floor, and she hasn’t been down her since. “It’s just,” she tries again, her throat all tight, fingers flexing and unflexing. 

“I have to do this,” she says, staring into his eyes. “I have to help. I- I need to repent, right?” 

“You’ve got nothin’ to repent for,” Kaito says, hotly. “You just made a mistake.”

Kaede laughs, short and breathless. “Two people _died.”_

“And it would’ve been sixteen if you hadn’t,” he argues. “You were just- fuck- you were just trying to help.”

He sounds restless. She must look pretty wound up. Kaede screws her eyes up, bunches her fists up, too. She can feel the tension in her body, wrapped to a point, bundled up newspaper. Something tossed aside. 

_I wish it had been me instead of Himiko._

Kaito’s other hand is on her other shoulder, now. She forces her eyes open again. 

“As my sidekick,” he says, something not quite gentle but close in his voice, “I take full responsibility for your actions, okay? So- stop worrying about paying penance, or making up for it, or that shit! Just focus on helping get us all out of here, like you want! We’ve gotta support each other. You can’t play doubles without a partner, even if you’re the champion of the tennis world.”

Kaede sniffs, once. She’s not quite crying, stuck in some awful halfway point where her whole face feels tight. “And we’re going to play doubles when we’re out of here?”

“That’s right!” Kaito squeezes both shoulders before he lets her go. “And everyone else can come cheer us on- but first we gotta figure this out, right?”

“Right,” she echoes. Takes another breath. Leans around him to stare at the library door. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Kaito hesitates a moment. “You don’t… have to, y’know. You might be my sidekick, but I wouldn’t be much of a man if I-”

“Kaito,” Kaede replies, flatly. “Tell me you’re not treating me like I’m made of glass because I’m a girl, or I’ll have to talk to Chabashira-san.”

He flinches a little at the prospect, raising his hands defensively. “I’m just saying you’ve been through a lot!” 

“Uh huh.” Kaede nudges him with her elbow. He nudges her back. She still doesn’t feel _okay,_ but not like she’s floating out of her body anymore. It’s a start. 

Kaito gives her a pair of thumbs up, raises an eyebrow as if to check on her a last time, and then strides forward. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Just follow me, and rely on me. I’ll figure this out.”

The library looms above them, and for once she doesn’t compete to chase after him. Part of her wants to reach out and clutch at his tacky jacket as they step inside, like she would with her mother’s robes, but she does still have _some_ dignity.

For a moment, all that’s visible is the bookshelves, the overbearing smell of rot. The hidden door isn’t currently visible, but she stares at it anyway. The books above it still sit in their sloped steps, her own work staring grimly back at her.

There’s a spot of something dark on the carpet.

“Oh.” Movement. Saihara steps out from one of the dark corners, so still and quiet that he almost seemed like part of the scenery. He lifts a hand to his mask. “Did you two come down to investigate, too…?” 

He won’t meet her eyes.

“No, dude, we came down to talk to you!” Kaito says, forcefully cheerful, and a wave of gratitude floats through Kaede’s body. “What are you investigating down here, anyway? The murder was up in the pianist’s lab.”

Saihara’s answering silence drags through the damp air. Kaede looks back at the blood on the carpet.

“The mastermind’s door,” she says, softly, and then- a sudden flash of hope. Back to Saihara, still shying away from her. “Did you find anything? Did they do anything before we found the body?”

He doesn’t answer for another long moment. A flash of irritation bites at Kaede’s chest before she fights it back. “Saihara-kun?” Still quiet. She grips her hands together, imploring. “Please tell us if you know anything. It’s important.”

“I know,” he mumbles. “Um. It’s… nothing really. I’m sorry. I would have told you if there was anything notable.” Finally, he glances up, something like a sympathetic smile pressing up his eyes. “I’m sure we’ll figure this out soon, Akamatsu-san.”

“Damn right we will!” Kaito grins, pumping a fist in the air. “Nice to see you feeling better and back in the search, Saihara!” The anthropologist bows his head awkwardly. “Ouma says you two were together all day,” Kaito continues, a little triumphant. Something twitches behind Saihara’s mask. He nods slowly. 

“...Right,” he says. “We were, um. Outside his lab all day. It’s why I was in such a hurry to leave… before.” He tugs at his mask. 

_Is he… lying?_ Kaede wonders, but after a glance at Kaito, dismisses the thought. Why would Ouma lie for Saihara- and why would Saihara lie for Ouma? They left breakfast together and were together when she and Kaito found them. (Still, part of her lingers on the idea. So much of the day passed with people separate and alone, and with no time of death… were Saihara and Ouma really accounted for all day?)  
But Kaito wants to trust people. She wants that, too. Especially with him.

“Do you know anything…” A slow inhale. Last time she had to do this line of questioning, he was by her side. She doesn’t suspect him, right? No part of her thinks it was Saihara- Saihara with the plan to save everyone.  
(Someone saw the body and didn’t tell anyone.)  
“Do you know anything about what might have happened to Shinguji-kun?”

Something flickers in Saihara’s face- for the first time in the conversation, he looks surprised. 

“Shinguji was the one killed?” He asks.

Kaede wraps around herself on reflex. She can’t quite help the frown crossing her face.  
“Yeah,” she says. “You might have known that if you actually came to see.”

“No, it’s just…” He presses a hand to his mouth. “Not what I expected. How was he killed?”

Kaito plucks a book from a shelf, turns it over, and puts it back, leaving Kaede and Saihara to stand parallel. “Piano wire, dude,” he replies. “It was super messed up.” 

“He was… garrotted with it,” Kaede murmurs, thinking back to the body with a wince. 

“...piano wire,” Saihara repeats, quietly. “Were there any other weapons there?”

“A knife, but it was clean,” Kaede replies. She hesitates a moment. “Ouma said it was one of his. Why?”

Saihara doesn’t respond, but reaches into one of his tight, neat pockets and withdraws his monopad. Kaede mimics him, and Kaito shuffles over to peer over her shoulder. Together, they scan the monokuma files, rereading the same information. Victim: Shinguji Korekiyo. Location: the ultimate pianist’s talent lab. Cause of death: suffocation. 

“No murder weapon given,” Saihara notes. “No time of death, either?”

“Hoshi pointed that out, too,” Kaito says, shuffling over to stand between them. For a moment, it feels a little bit normal, like they’re all on the same team.

Then Saihara pockets the pad again and steps away to pick up his book again. “Okay,” he says. “That makes sense.”

They’re standing in the library, and Kiibo’s blood is still on the rotten wood at the base of a bookshelf, and behind that bookshelf is the mastermind’s door. They’re standing in the library, and Kaede’s satchel feels too heavy and too light all at once. They’re standing in the library. Kaito is there, still peering at her monopad, scanning for any extra information. If she shuts her eyes for too long, Monokuma’s music starts playing.  
She imagines Himiko standing here, too. Was she aware, at any point, of what she’d done? Was there a moment before her memory was wiped? Did she hate Kaede, in that moment?

They’re standing in the library, and Saihara won’t look at her.

“Are you going to say anything else?” Kaede asks, her voice trembling a little. 

Something drifts behind Saihara’s mask- some emotion she can’t define. 

“I’m sorry, Akamatsu-san,” he says, softly. “But… the trial. It’s best to try and control external variables as much as possible.”

Like it’s a clinical trial. A social experiment. 

“Is that why you haven’t helped with the motive videos?” She asks, quietly. “Because you’re trying to judge everyone?”

Saihara doesn’t answer. Kaito shoves a book back into the shelf and steps up to Saihara, fist clenched. He flinches back, and Kaede’s mouth goes dry. “That’s fucked up, man!” Kaito says, passionately. “Those videos meant a lot to everyone! They showed everyone’s most important people!”

“...” Saihara’s eyes fix on the floor. 

Kaede clutches at the folds of her own shirt. “Kaito,” she whispers. “It’s okay, let’s just go. He has an alibi, anyway. It doesn’t matter.” It matters. It matters so much, because this is Saihara. Her friend. And he won’t trust anyone because of her.

“You haven’t seen Shinguji’s video, have you?” He murmurs. “They didn’t find it.” His gaze drifts upwards, fixing on one of the moulding ceiling beams. It’s hard to describe the color of his eyes as anything other than _murky_ as he presses a hand to his mouth, thoughtful. “They didn’t find Shinguji-kun’s video, or Ouma-kun’s, or Tojo-san’s, or Harukawa’s.”

“Or _yours,”_ Kaito points out, side-eyeing him.

In response, Saihara reaches into one of his pockets and withdraws a motivepad. He switches it on, and they all listen to Monokuma’s tinny, recorded voice, like a knock-off of something painfully familiar. _Welcome to the ultimate anthropologist, Saihara Shuichi’s, motive video!_  
He clicks it off before it can play any further.

“You hid that from us?” Kaede asks, a flash of hot emotion lighting up her chest. “Do you know how long Amami and Tojo and Shirogane-san spent searching for those??”

He glances at her, and then away again, humming into his own hand. “All the motive videos that no one found… they were moved from where Ouma originally hid them. Or gone. So it’s not surprising that those ones weren’t found. The pattern was disrupted.”

The implication settles uneasy on Kaede’s shoulders. “Are you saying… other people are hiding their motive videos?”

“They wouldn’t do that!” Kaito argues, elbowing forward again. “Not everyone has something to hide, man!”

“Shinguji-kun’s,” Saihara continues, “is probably in his dorm room somewhere. I imagine he wouldn’t have wanted anyone seeing it. I think you could ask Ouma-kun to break in for you. He keeps lockpicks on him, for getting in and out of his lab.”

“You know a lot about Ouma,” Kaito says, making no attempt to disguise the suspicious way he’s squinting. “Are you sure he isn’t manipulating you to do something with these videos?”

Saihara pauses for a moment, hand on his mouth, like he’s actually considering it. “...He might be,” he settles on. “But if he has, I haven’t interfered with them in any way, so I’m not sure what exactly that would extend to.” Once again, he hesitates mid sentence. “I know a lot about a lot of people.”

“What do you know about Shinguji?” Kaito asks, perking up- a dog with his tail beginning to thump. “Anything that could help us?”

“You won’t be able to solve the case without his motive video,” Saihara says, averting his eyes. “And you won’t believe me if I tell you, either.”

Something about that gets to her. Kaede hadn’t even realized she’d been silent until she speaks again. “Of course I will,” she says, hotly. “Of course I will. I’ll always believe you, Saihara-kun- we’re still friends! _I_ think of you as a friend. Everyone- everyone here is my friend, but especially-”  
And she doesn’t know what to say except _we were a team,_ and _I’m so sorry,_ and _I was meant to help you._ _  
_ The words that come out are just _“of course I will,”_ for the third time. Amami told her magic played by rules of threes- that was how to set up a good trick, and how to cast a spell. Maybe this one will work.

Saihara is staring at her. 

Kaito is also staring at her.

Saihara’s gaze slides to her side. He says, “you shouldn’t.”

They leave the library soon after that.

\--

“Hiya, princess Akamatsu-chan and her knight in shiny armor!” Ouma rocks back on his feet, arms tucked behind him. “Come for all the juicy details on how I cut Kiyo-chan’s throat? I gotta warn you, it was preeeeetty messy! He bled everywhere, like a gutted fish. And he looked like one, too, with his eyes all bugged out!”

“Stop fucking lying,” Kaito huffs, clenching his fist. “You’re sick, you know that?”

Kaede frowns. “Saihara said you could help us.”

“No honorific?” Ouma notes, the glint of his smile white as his knife. “Getting pretty intimate, huh?”

He’s rubbing it in. She can tell. He knows what he’s doing.  
Kaede grits her teeth, then smiles. “Well, I’ve been a little distracted recently,” she says. “With the murder.” It feels like she has to push her emotions back every few minutes- was it always so difficult to control herself? It isn’t healthy to subdue anger, to force it down. She shouldn’t be feeling it in the first place- but she’s rubbed raw, her skin burning and flaking against her sleeves.

She bounces her leg a little. She can feel Ouma’s eyes on her, his gaze itching restlessly across her face. “Is something wrong, Akamatsu-chan?” He asks, all innocence.

“We need you to break into Shinguji-kun’s bedroom,” she tells him. “Saihara said you have lockpicks.”

“Snitch,” Ouma pouts. “And I _trusted_ him!”

Kaito is clearly having a harder time keeping his temper- Kaede can’t blame him, exactly. She’s practiced the art of peace practically all her life, and still ever interaction with Ouma puts her on edge.  
(She isn’t scared of him. She’s more powerful than anyone who chooses to intertwine their life with violence- even like she is now. Kaede might be scrubbed raw, ink-stained, but she’s not an assassin. She cares about people’s lives.)  
The tennis player has his fists bunched up. Kaede sends him a glance of warning, and he huffs, looking away from her and adjusting the collar of his jacket. “We all knew you had to be able to get into the dorms, anyway,” he mutters.

“Yup! I bet that makes you feel suuuuper nervous, huh?” Ouma asks, his smile dipping down as he lifts a finger to his lips. “Sleep with one eye open, Momota-chan! If you piss me off enough, I might decide to pay you a visit!”

“I could take you,” Kaito snaps.

“Kaito,” Kaede murmurs. He huffs again.

“Well….. If it’s for my besties, I guess it’s okay! Lead the way, class reps!” Ouma grins, stretching casually. He yawns like a cat, jaw dropping, and folds an elbow up before crossing both arms behind his head, staring up at them encouragingly.

Kaede stares back at him. The smile on his face doesn’t change at all.

Slowly, she steps back. Kaito turns to leave. Ouma doesn’t move until they’ve both moved a few paces back- then he lifts one leg, goose-steps forward. Stops.

Kaede moves back again. Kaito, eyeing the assassin suspiciously, follows. 

Ouma takes another step.

Kaede decides she’s had enough and turns her back to him, biting her tongue. You should never turn your back on an enemy, especially an armed one- but she can sense him behind her, each clicking step of his boots, the satisfaction oozing out of him. If he moves too quickly, if he pauses, if he leans too far to one side, she’ll hear it, feel the way the air shifts around him. Kaede’s disconnected from her own ki, but even now the world presses in against her. 

They make their way to the dorms, picking up the pace a little. She’s not sure of the exact time, but she knows they’ve probably wasted a lot of it running back and forth. Fortunately, Ouma makes quick work of the lock- cheerfully informing both of them that all the dorms use the same kind of lock, so it’s super easy to get into them, and doesn’t that make them feel pretty frightened? They should sleep with one eye open, he says, especially Akamatsu-chan, because he would be pretty interested in seeing if he can get the drop on a ninja. 

By the time they’re inside Kiyo’s room, she’s planning to shove her dresser in front of her door before she falls asleep.  
...Whenever she finds time to fall asleep. It’s so late, already. She’s been up since the morning. Has this all been one day?

“There we are!” There’s not much to note in the room- Ouma marches right over to his bed and pulls the motive pad from under his pillow almost immediately. Aside from that, the room is fairly bare- stacks of books and sheet music, probably bought from the student store. Spare uniforms. Kiyo spent most of his time in his lab, didn’t he?  
Kaede tries to think of everything she knows about him. He liked piano. She’d never seen him with bare hands. He was dedicated to his talent. He seemed bothered by Iruma, enjoyed watching people, knew a lot about musical history. He was friendly enough but didn’t make much of an effort to reach out to people- but he spent a lot of time with the group, despite his talent lab being open since the start. Quiet. Observant. Eager to explain his interests. There was something unnerving about him. (She feels guilty for even thinking it.)

“Um, earth to Akamatsu-chan?” Ouma is holding the pad in front of him, insistent. “I’ve already seen this garbo video, so I don’t want it.”

“...You hid all the videos,” Kaede murmurs, faintly.

He nods, triumphant, and holds it out a little more firmly. “Uh-huh! For your own good, like I said. Not that it worked. Your dumb little motive video hide-and-seek game just gave everyone an opportunity to snatch up their own. And now you don’t even know anything about anyone.”

They didn’t find Kiyo’s video. They didn’t find Ouma’s. Not Saihara’s, or Tojo’s, or Harukawa’s.

Some of those people have alibis- but is it really possible to keep track of where everyone was, all day, with no time of death? No one saw Shinguji since breakfast.

She takes a breath and switches the video on.

Monokuma’s timing must be intentional, because there is _no_ way that it’s time for the trial. It’s like he was waiting _(watching her)_ right for the moment she clicked play, the exact moment he could flicker onto the monitor and interrupt his own voice- _“Welcome to the ultimate pianist, Shin-”_

 _Trial time._ Get to the shrine right now or be punished. Don't you dare dawdle.

Kaito sucks a breath in through his teeth, then lets it go as the announcement plays. He marches over and wraps an arm around Kaede, hugging her against his side, so that she’s squished right up against him. His stupid, ugly, neon tennis jacket crinkles against her cheek. His other hand comes around to ruffle her hair, pigtails all messed up. “Alright, Kaede?” he says. 

She takes a breath. Shoves his hand away. Smiles like all she’s thinking about is how funny he is. “Yeah.”

Ouma is already gone when she looks away.

\--

Kaede stands next to Kaito as the elevator descends again, her satchel heavy with carefully collected evidence at her side. Shinguji’s motive video burns through her hip. 

“Hey,” Kaito says. “It’s gonna be okay, Kaede. You just rely on me, okay? You’re my sidekick, so… I’ll take responsibility for any decisions you make.” His brow creases a little, sheepish. “Of course, the tennis champion of the world can get through anything on his own, but… I’ll need your help, okay? So you just do your best and know that I’m there for you!”

It’s almost funny- it’s such a flip between the first trial. Kaede had been the one comforting, then.  
Her eyes slide across the tiny box to reach Saihara. He’s looking grimly ahead. She can’t even begin to fathom what he’s thinking. 

“Together,” Kaede breathes out, and she wonders if. If maybe something will happen here that pushes Kaito away from her, too. 

“All of us,” he replies, determined, smiling, and she knows he must be scared, must still be mourning like the rest of them, knows because she’s the same way, because she’s smiling back at him right now.

They’re both lying. She doesn’t think Kaito knows he is, and a part of her envies that.

But someone here killed someone, and Kaede pities them and hates them and wishes that they’d had any other choice. 

\--

 _The entire class had been gathered together in the courtyard- something that was rare, after the first trial. Before the motive videos, when everything felt raw and real and soft._ _  
_ _Kaede wasn’t sure what had lured them all out- maybe it was the fact it was particularly sunny, or the fact that Shirogane and Angie had been baking together and had produced lychee-coconut syrups and mochi and ice cream. Ouma was playing cards with an increasingly flustered Chabashira, as Amami tried to separate the two. Saihara lurked close by, always watching, Hoshi and Tojo seated on one of the shallow walls and speaking in low voices- at least one of them smiling. Gonta was on the ground, sketching in between gentle conversation with, surprisingly, Harukawa, who had her knees pulled to her chest and her cheeks puffed out. The sun filtered through the glass dome and then through the decorative leaves of the trees- and then off from the many jewels adorning Iruma as she sunbathed and demanded syrup from poor Shirogane._

_Kaede, laughing as Kaito swallowed his mochi whole, looked over the scene fondly. “It’s like being in school,” she told him, kicking her legs up from the flowerbed she was sitting on while he lectured her. “Only… I never had friends like this in school.”_

_“I can’t see why!” Kaito thumped his chest enthusiastically, bouncing in place. “You’ve got such a bright spark, Kaede! Everyone should be fighting over themselves for your attention.”_

_She’d laughed, and ducked her head, and gently kicked him with the edge of one sandal._

_“Kaede!” That was Angie, waving her over. Kaede slipped from the flowerbed, her weight hitting the ground and pushing her forward again, to where the entomologist sat with Iruma, who had now lifted her sunglasses and decided to sit up, giving her a lazy wave. “I’m teaching Miu some rhythm games from my island. Do you know any?”_

_“Rhythm games?” Kaede knelt down next to them, Kaito not too far behind her. “Um, like… project diva?”_

_Miu snorted. “So you do know some stuff, I guess. That’s what I thought, too.”_

_“No, silly! Hand games- like this!” Angie spread her hands out in front of her, palms up, gestured for Kaede to mimic her. “I have- to go- to market- I have- to go- to town-” She sung in a soft rhythm, each beat emphasized by a clap of their palms together- swapping back and forth, the back of their hands, their palms, right and left and then both at once for emphasis. The beat was steady enough that Kaede could keep track when Angie was slow, though she sped up quite quickly. “Oh, oh, oh! My darling- won’t come- to town!”_

_Kaede smiled the whole way through, laughing at every mistake, and both Angie and Miu laughed with her. She’d played games like this before, although the song was unfamiliar- but after a few repetitions, she got the hang of it, and she joined in with singing along. “-so there’s- nothing- to do- but cry!”_

_Soft applause, from behind them. Miu jumped, spilling half a glass of some kind of cocktail, and Kaede turned, dropping her hands from Angie’s._

_Shinguji, who had been stretched out in the shade for most of the afternoon, was standing behind them- towering and elegant, his dark hair glinting in the sun. “Fascinating,” he said, softly. “I haven’t heard that song before. I assume it must be native to your island.”_

_Angie beamed, closing her eyes as if savoring something. “It’s a religious song!” She chimed. “Some people say it’s a metaphor for death, which is very possible- most things are, you know.” When she opened her eyes, there was something spooky there for a moment, before she laughed again. “I just think it’s fun!”_

_“Death is often associated with anything ancient- especially children’s rhymes. We’ve always had an obsession with the morbid,” Shinguji replied, smiling as he crossed his arms in front of him. “Japan has a few like that- and even more that had nothing to do with death but are now associated as such. I’m sure there’s something about children singing songs about travelling to places that’s always a little unnerving- Perhaps our anthropologist could dive a little more into the psychology of it.” A soft laugh, like dry grass, as Shinguji inclined his head over to where Saihara was sitting next to Amami, frantically trying to break up a nearly rabid Chabashira from a snickering Ouma, cards spilled over the ground._

_Kaede frowned, briefly, as she watched, something tugging at her heart. But she didn’t have long to spend being pensive, because then Shinguji was placing a hand on her shoulder, knelt down just enough to let the sun behind him soak over her face._

_“Do you know the rhyme Toryanse, Akamatsu-san?” He asked her._

_“Oh!” Kaede nodded, laughing, and then sung the first few bars. “You may go in, you may enter~”_

_He responded in kind- his voice was husky, but the melody bled through every bar of it, anyway. “Which way is this narrow pathway?”_

_Kaede grinned, despite herself, and jumped to her feet. “This is the narrow pathway of the Tenjin shrine!” She reached for his hands, forgetting herself- he jumped, as soon as her fingers met the bandages. Perhaps she reached too quickly, held too tight._

_For a moment, he looked almost afraid of her._

_Stomach sinking, Kaede moved to pull her hands back, but he caught her bloodstained fingers before she could._ _  
_ _There was a moment, with the others still bickering in the background, Angie watching with interest, Miu humming half a bar to a pop song, the taste of lychee still in her mouth. Shinguji’s hands were so intricately wrapped with bandage that she couldn’t feel any skin at all. The gauze felt rough and old against her smoother palms._

_Quietly, Shinguji interlaced their fingers. His touch was surprisingly gentle- like he was afraid of damaging his pianist’s hands (or maybe afraid of damaging hers?) “Please allow me to go through.” He wasn’t quite singing now, but Kaede smiled at him anyway._

_She lifted their hands over their heads- a children’s game, one they were far too old to play, and laughing, jerked her head over at Kaito, who was watching sort of hesitantly. “Come on, I know you’ve played before, mountain boy!”_

_He rolled his eyes and grumbled, but made his way over and grinned the whole time- grabbing Angie and Iruma by the arms with a an excited squeal and a yelp, and pulled them into the line. Kaede sung the next line, and one by one, each of them ducked under the lopsided archway formed between her and the much taller Shinguji- their hands linked up high, her on her tip toes. “Those without good reason cannot pass!”_

(“So we just go under the bridge they make in circles?” Angie whispered.  
“It’s more fun with more people,” Kaito replied. “Oi, Amami!”)

_And then Shinguji was replying with the next line (“To celebrate the seventh birthday of this child- we’ve come to dedicate our offering,”) and halfway through his voice was joined by Amami’s, literally running over to duck under the arch and join the line, dragging a flustered Chabashira behind him and calling out to Tojo and Shirogane, who coaxed Hoshi along despite his grumbling, who took Harukawa’s arm and led her over despite how uncertain and pink she looked, and how unwilling to sing._

_And then following close after was Ouma, delightedly echoing the last few lines there- and behind him was Saihara, uncertain and hesitant but embarrassed enough not to be pariah about it._

_“Going in is easy, but returning is scary!” Everyone chorused- and then a second time, for Angie, who was still learning the words. Harukawa was stubbornly silent, but when people laughed at her as she passed under the arch she turned pink, and Kaito scuffed her hair._

_“It’s scary, but,” Kaede hummed, and she’d never been particularly proud of her voice but she’d never felt so much like singing before._

_She caught Saihara’s eye, just briefly, as he passed under her hands. For a moment, they were singing together._

_“You may go in, you may pass through.”_

_There was a brief beat- all of them, high school students, ultimates, would-be murderer and dearest friends. They paused, standing in the middle of a half completed children’s game. A nervous laugh passed through the group, embarrassed._

_Then Shinguji sung the first line again. Kaede looked back to him, and he was smiling at her._

_She didn’t think she’d ever seen him smile like that before._

_There was no option except to answer, swapping roles, gate-keeper and parent, and the song looped again. They ended up split down the middle, girls following Kaede and boys following Shinguji, but Angie sung for both parts and Harukawa sung for neither and Ouma chimed in whenever he felt like it, and it was all a terrible, childish mess._

_They ended up singing the whole song about six times- and by the end, Angie knew the words as well as anyone and was one of the loudest singers. They took turns, too, making arches and linking hands and travelling under it. The usually minor, melancholy song sounded major. The mochi melted in the sun. Harukawa was caught mumbling a few lines and was viciously, delightedly teased by her peers until she snapped and asked if they wanted to ‘cross over’ for real- and still, she didn’t leave, and they didn’t stop smiling._

_Kaede went over to talk to Shinguji after the whole play had dissolved, and the others had split into their usual groups or gone back to serving or sunbathing._

_She wasn’t really sure what to say, at first, but he seemed happy just to quietly observe her from his spot in the sun._

_“I would offer to play it for you, but on a keyboard it just sounds like the crossing-lights song. Much more charming to be sung, I think.” He’d closed his eyes._

_She shuffled a little closer to him, the warmth spreading over her shoulders like bread baking. “I would have thought you preferred everything on the piano!”_

_He was quiet for a moment- when he spoke, it was still smiling, despite his words. “I’d never actually played the game before today. I didn’t spend much time in school while I was a child.”_

_“Ah, I guess most ultimates kind of dedicate themselves to their passion pretty young, huh…?” Kaede had gone to school, but she’d left early on certain days and her grades, while good, had been nothing impressive. She was the best at aikido and she was as good at school as she needed to be for her talent. To make people smile like they were proud of her. “Um, I’d only played a couple times. It was really nice! You have a lovely voice, Shinguji-kun. I can hear the music in it!”_

_“And I in yours,” he responded, finally looking at her. “You know… I think you would have made a wonderful musician, Akamatsu-san. If you ever have the opportunity, you should play.” Something in his face shifted a little. “I believe… everyone should have the chance to play. It reveals a certain beauty in us- music pulls something deep from within.”_

_“That’s such a lovely way of putting it.” Kaede hummed happily, a few beats of the same nursery rhyme. “It was really nice. Singing with everyone.”_

_“Some day, we’ll all do it again,” he responded. “Kiibo, too. Who knows? Perhaps even Himiko, if she truly was a ghost.”_

_“I-” Something snagged in Kaede’s chest. She bunched her hand up tight in her sleeve, then released it with a breath._

_“Yeah. All of us.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if any of you are confused about the timeline of events here, lmk and i'll drop in the timing of the individual scenes! they're all in order with the exception of the last one but some happen during the day and some during the night
> 
> THANK YOU TO TOADSTOOLTRUTH FOR ENTIRELY INSPIRING THE SAIHARA/HOSHI SCENE WITH THEIR BEAUTIFUL ART!!!!!!!! please check them out they're so wonderful. also thank you to my sweet jinx for holding herself hostage until i finished this. and my laptop from crashing and terrifying me into posting it. HOPEFULLY!! THE TRIAL WILL BE OUT IN ABOUT A WEEK IF LIFE STOPS FCKING ME DRY 
> 
> AND PLEASE CHECK OUT THE DRV3WRITERZINE!!!!!! ANNOUNCEMENTS ARE COMING OUT VERY SOON FOR THE EXTREMELY AMAZING CAST

**Author's Note:**

> you can find both my tumblr and my instagram at unseeliekey!  
> ( https://unseeliekey.tumblr.com/tagged/talent-shuffle  
> ) specifically for this fic  
> and you can find refs i post there when i get around to them!
> 
> this is hugely embarrassing for me but i have also made a ko-fi which is.  
> https://ko-fi.com/unseeliekey  
> my dad really wants me to make money off the multiple hours i put into this. do not feel pressured to donate at all it's just this way i can tell him i'm trying and it seems less self-indulgent and sad
> 
> also also!!!!! amazing beautiful wonderful talented art by yuhudis-drv3 on tumblr!! they have drawn kaede, ouma, saihara, iruma, H1M1, harukawa, kiibo, and angie so far and they look FANTASTIC. (plus a few comics and aaaAAAAA)   
> tbh with all their absolutely gorgeous art and the motivation it provides me this is. basically a collaboration at this point. you can find their tumblr here!!! https://yuhudis-drv3.tumblr.com/


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